The Long Grief

There  are days I still mourn myself.

Not the child who was used,

but the one who never had the chance to unfold.

I grieve her in small, ordinary ways

like between brushstrokes and brewed tea,

in the hush after laughter,

in the weight of stillness that follows remembering.

Grief comes softly now.

It lives beside me, not inside me.

Sometimes it speaks through trembling hands,

sometimes through a smile that feels too tender to

last.

And that, too, is part of healing..

to let both ache and gratitude

sit at the same table without fighting.

When the wind moves through the trees,

I feel Jehovah's mercy in motion.

He steadies me through roots and rain,

through the scent of sage, vanilla, oil and fresh paper.

I write letters to the woman I am still becoming,

and each one carries the promise

that I am not finished yet.

Art steadies what my memory cannot.

Oil, pigment, texture...

they all give shape to what words cannot contain.

Red blooms across the canvas,

not as rage,

but as release...

a phoenix color,

the hue of freedom uncoiling after fire.

It is my proof that I lived through it,

and still, I rise with joy unashamed.

There are always flashbacks,

the mind still asks its questions.

They come like sudden stormy weather..

uninvited but expected.

And yet, I am learning to let them pass

without letting them claim the sky.

Each time I survive the remembering,

the memory loses a little of its power.

I move forward, not to forget,

but to leave footprints on the past

that once claimed to own me.

Ever step I take crushes what was meant

to keep me small.

Jehovah does not erase the weight..

He teaches me how to carry it differently.

Grief will always walk beside me,

but it moves at my pace.

It no longer drags me under;

it follows quietly,

watching as I paint, write and laugh

with the same hands that once trembled.

Because grief, in its truest form, 

is not only mourning..

it is the proof of healing,

the sign that I am still alive,

still walking towards peace,

still rising in red.