Conversation with Dear Ol'...
my stomach is throbbing
and some wretched scream aches in the place behind my sternum.
internally, i am
rocking
i am writhing
i am retching
up an empty stomach's contents-
why do i even try?
why do i let hope exist,
so small and frail,
emaciated-
yet still with light behind her eyes?
i am reduced to my
five-year old little girl self
who doesn't understand,
and who still twirls and spins
and looks to see if he is watching-
only i'm not spinning
anymore,
not dancing-
i am begging
begging for a moment's mercy
for a breath of tenderness
a crack
a fissure of kindness
in his rocky, hard places.
tonight
i am starving
i am wishing for something better-
than this,
than his cold stare and icy tone-
if a"father's love" cannot melt a heart like that-
what will???
and the burning behind my sternum
turns into a cavern
of pain.
my rib cage holds a void
that i cannot bear the weight of.
how difficult it is
not to believe your father's truths about you.
how much more worse
that your anguish is met with such cold and unmoved ferocity.
2 comments:
pain is so real. God's freedom love and grace is better than mankind can try to articulate. i say this to myself mainly. i have heard of girls twirling in skirts as young..and i can't remember finging myself that way. for some reason, i think i always thought of myself as not worthy to.
gosh, this is an interesting poem.
oh, honey. i would love to spend time with you on saturday. i am actually crying for you right now. oh, empathy. i think everything sounds great. free is even better. i thought about calling but think this is better.
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