I love my body all the time,
But I love it best when I can be free in it.
Violated from those that raped or used.
A womb damaged, scarring and pain.
When I’m back here in this place I put on weight.
I never realized that when a trigger threatens my self preservation I try to make myself less vulnerable.
When I’m shining and healthy that’s when I am free.
Loving myself through what was done to me.
Category: Uncategorized
-
Learning to Be Free
-
Summer Sunrise & Moonlight Dreams
Greet me with the warmth of a Summer Sunrise. Slowly casting out the darkness allowing me to open myself to the beauty before me. Let the singing of birds awakened a long forgotten promise. As the sparkles dance across the water, take me by the hand. Listen to the call of my wild heart and nurture my soul. Grow with me as the flowers, not just during the bloom. Let the magic flow freely let go of the restraints. And as the night falls and the moon takes her place, see the beauty in my childlike wonder. Hold me while dreams take me under until the sun calls me once more.
-
Echoes of Imperfection
Your words seeped into my skin like poison, convincing me I wasn’t enough. The way you discarded me for others, deeming them more worthy, still echoes in my mind. I let those long-forgotten whispers of imperfection define me, reducing my body to something to be used. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying my demons and letting them run wild. I’m ashamed to admit I still succumb to the familiar patterns of self-destruction – starving, exercising until I collapse. Yet, with each passing day, I’m learning to recognize the triggers, to course-correct faster. And when I look in the mirror, I see a person who’s bruised, battered, but still standing.
-
The Moment I Froze
I didn’t cry, I froze. Shock washed over me like I was just slapped across the face. Was it the words, the way they were said, or the person who said them? I don’t know. That’s the crack where time stopped for me. The moment I remember thinking, ‘This is how he sees me and I was trying to be caring.’ The bruise was so deep; I still recall it took hours before I could cry. The date etched in my tortured heart. That’s when the grief started.
-
Ghost of the Past
To the man I end up spending my life with some day, I hope you know that before I decide to take a leap of faith with you, I will have laid my past ghosts to rest. The one I wrote about for so many years, the man I struggled to move on from. I want you to know that when our story begins, he will be a memory that I’ll cherish for the lessons, growth, and hope he brought me. I hope he’s found the one who makes his heart soar, just as you make mine. I want you to know that I’ll carry him with me always, because he was worth carrying. We both grew from the experiences we shared, and though it was difficult, we became better because we broke free from each other for our future selves. The love I have for him doesn’t diminish the love we will share; instead, it’s a testament to my capacity to love and grow.
-
The Weight of Vulnerability
I forgot about allowing another to decide. It isn’t a small thing, and yet I forgot. How often do we do this? What if we just said the truth inside us? I want to shield you from my storms, but I also want you with me in mine. Why can’t it both be true? Is love about protecting them, or is it a lie we tell ourselves? It could be the fear of rejection if they can’t or won’t handle it. Perhaps it’s the fear that we’d just be toxic. Maybe it is love because we know we have so little to offer but our messy selves. The heart doesn’t grasp the difference, and we can punish without full understanding. The throat gets caught on the fear left in us when we say what we need and are met with indifference. Deep wounds were already ingrained before we ever met. What if you just gave yourself? Could you stay? Would they be around when you run? Can you grow? What if you dared to heal together? Shouldn’t all parties have a chance to decide what they want to do? Can you allow someone into the dialogue in your head?
-
Whispers in the Night
I heard you that night, the night I briefly cried and you held me. When I was almost asleep, you pulled me closer. I heard you say you loved me. I knew you didn’t mean for me to hear. I told you I loved you in my head and slept. I wish we were both brave enough, but we were broken.
-
Ghosts of My Childhood
I have been deep in my journey of abandonment, searching the archives of my heart, I relive the aches. I was 10 years old when my grandfather got sick. His illness and death are still fresh in my head at 45. Maybe it was because he doted on me. I was, in fact, his princess. He told me my light was magnetic, I was an earth angel. He encouraged my free spirit and creativity. ‘The world needed more love and happiness,’ he would say. For a while, I imagined he never died; that he simply had amnesia and was lost. His death created a ripple effect in my life. My mother left less than a year after. She had been a constant presence in my life for 12 years, but one day after school, she wasn’t there. For a year, I think she would come and go. My brother and sister and I hardly had time in the same space after that. We were shuffled with family, split, broken. Friends and family grew tired of my presence in their lives. I was abandoned in every conceivable way. No one wanted me around, and no one stayed. I learned this while other kids learned to play sports. I go back and forth on which one cut the deepest: the loss of my grandfather, mother, brother and sister, family members that I now know I burdened, or friends that didn’t feel like friends any longer. I lost it all, and I still carry that pain into every relationship with other people.
-
Fading Numbness
I feel time closing in around me. It’s in the way I don’t react. How I just go ‘huh, okay’ and let silence wash over me. I don’t feel the need to fight. The inability to breathe deep doesn’t make me scared any longer. The sadness isn’t the same. I feel a little less day by day. The laughter that surrounds me no longer feels distant, at the end of some long tunnel. I can look on others moving in their lives, and it doesn’t cut so deeply. The sting is so brief that I’m left wondering if it was real. The walls reemerged, but not out of fear this time. This time, they’re security features, built-in upgrades to keep something valuable inaccessible to carelessness.
-
The Weight of Trauma
I’m not calculated. I have spent my life trying to access danger, to read the room and gauge potential trouble. I note exits, faces, and the people who might step in, trying to control my nervous system from triggers. Will I smell those scents, see a piece of clothing like theirs somewhere, or hear a phrase used when I was not safe? If I leave abruptly, I’m not playing a game – I am fleeing from what my body feels like I may break if I don’t get home. I use humor to keep myself shielded, a mask that I swear sometimes I fool myself. My thoughts are never able to process everything being said because I’m on high alert, trying to keep everything in my sight. I have lived through so many horrific things that I can’t be normal. It is something I will never experience. So you see, I don’t have time to play a game – I’m too busy trying to survive so I never have to experience another moment like that again.
Ink Stained Soul... 