Charges Interchanged
A man I once knew caused great waves of terror in a little
girl's eyes. Rolling tides that choked. Finding every particles
of life, strangled.
Even as a child I dreamed of peace without his wicked
breath hovering over my closed eyes. The sadness
of childhood stolen. A small whimper escapes my almond
storms.
Today kindness in a reminder of why I no longer
fear such a man. Why now even two years after his
death I have hope for his resurrection.
How you may ask? How did I outgrow this
fear, the need of protection hidden under my pillows
and the hiding of who I am? How I never need
to think this man can kill me now?
Indeed. As much as the scars burn deep and
the stabs choke the blood I continue to move forward.
Only Jehovah knows why. Also why I even lay
hope to seeing this man again.
Once a friend told me that we all have issues. Perhaps
my father was torn, broken by the time he became
my parent. Maybe his brush of anger, his mental
inabilities, his physical threats and harm and his
verbal degrading were just him escaping the pain,
the jagged knife he endured his entire life.
I have to give love even though the past is gone,
over, buried. I have to give hope for him. I had
to forgive him else I couldn't move forward,
just as I hoped, dreamed.
Even in those moments when his hatred,
disgraceful voice echoes in my mind I still,
continue, to remember we are all imperfect
and broken..
... Until found and embraced...
Jehovah constantly works with me on
forgiving those who deeply harmed me and
those who even blame me for what I do
still. I always need to find peace. The calm
in the mist of heavy fog.
The soothing that pulled this small child
with no voice from the terror. A wide eyed
blue skies, freckled masses and shiny copper,
carrot red to recognize freedom.
Not quite fearless but no longer scared of
one man. The breath in the darkened night.
The touches that made me hurl and curl tightly
bound. The vicious laughter. No, never again
am I believed to be the trash upon his lips,
nor the dirt below his feet.
I am worthy. I am worthy of being a human,
a woman. Still that little girl cries. Still that hope
of wonderful dreams float.
Even now as a grown woman I am carrying
spoiled, soiled linens in a worn overnight bag. I
still have learned to grow tall. I bear my smile
in endurance.
However a small spillage of words ground me
back to those moments. Just quick interchanges
that halt me dead and I spew back into a closed,
darkened room. Hidden.
Pardon my bizarre exchange. The light will
finally open. Soon the changing violet blacks
turn to sky blue once more.
A molten jolt, perhaps, necessary to
keep me grounded, humble and modest.
girl's eyes. Rolling tides that choked. Finding every particles
of life, strangled.
Even as a child I dreamed of peace without his wicked
breath hovering over my closed eyes. The sadness
of childhood stolen. A small whimper escapes my almond
storms.
Today kindness in a reminder of why I no longer
fear such a man. Why now even two years after his
death I have hope for his resurrection.
How you may ask? How did I outgrow this
fear, the need of protection hidden under my pillows
and the hiding of who I am? How I never need
to think this man can kill me now?
Indeed. As much as the scars burn deep and
the stabs choke the blood I continue to move forward.
Only Jehovah knows why. Also why I even lay
hope to seeing this man again.
Once a friend told me that we all have issues. Perhaps
my father was torn, broken by the time he became
my parent. Maybe his brush of anger, his mental
inabilities, his physical threats and harm and his
verbal degrading were just him escaping the pain,
the jagged knife he endured his entire life.
I have to give love even though the past is gone,
over, buried. I have to give hope for him. I had
to forgive him else I couldn't move forward,
just as I hoped, dreamed.
Even in those moments when his hatred,
disgraceful voice echoes in my mind I still,
continue, to remember we are all imperfect
and broken..
... Until found and embraced...
Jehovah constantly works with me on
forgiving those who deeply harmed me and
those who even blame me for what I do
still. I always need to find peace. The calm
in the mist of heavy fog.
The soothing that pulled this small child
with no voice from the terror. A wide eyed
blue skies, freckled masses and shiny copper,
carrot red to recognize freedom.
Not quite fearless but no longer scared of
one man. The breath in the darkened night.
The touches that made me hurl and curl tightly
bound. The vicious laughter. No, never again
am I believed to be the trash upon his lips,
nor the dirt below his feet.
I am worthy. I am worthy of being a human,
a woman. Still that little girl cries. Still that hope
of wonderful dreams float.
Even now as a grown woman I am carrying
spoiled, soiled linens in a worn overnight bag. I
still have learned to grow tall. I bear my smile
in endurance.
However a small spillage of words ground me
back to those moments. Just quick interchanges
that halt me dead and I spew back into a closed,
darkened room. Hidden.
Pardon my bizarre exchange. The light will
finally open. Soon the changing violet blacks
turn to sky blue once more.
A molten jolt, perhaps, necessary to
keep me grounded, humble and modest.
Comments
Post a Comment