Ink Stained Soul…

My muse, that is what he was. The words that begged to be written. I, giving in as I Always do. Unable to do anything but honor what my soul speaks. He needed solitude and I was a storm.

Why is it that when your health is failing life feels heavy with things hidden in your heart?
When your heart is slow and not pumping properly you feel the ache of a love you can’t hold.
You think about how much you just want to be held by them.
That the longer you are sick the more you grieve for time with the one you love desperately.
As you feel yourself growing weaker you dream of what matters most inside your heart.
It feels like Something greater forcing you to be honest with yourself as time slips away.

The one who created me, he must have known. When he made my heart soft, yet put me through hell, he knew I would break. The world would try to kill me, but I would be rebirthed into the ashes. Each time they were sent for me, he knew what he made – a soul that would endure. He knew I needed children to make me go on, that they would be the key, even when I couldn’t understand. My heart would be crushed under others’ words, but I would adjust and grow as I burned. He knew who he made in me – an angelic phoenix who grew as I learned. The eldest daughter forged in fire.

The catacombs of my heart are covered in memories of us.
1.0 8.0 summer solstice 22

Through the pain I loved, hoped, and held.
It wasn’t just you
It was me
I wasn’t alone
I know you felt it
But you didn’t want to feel.
So my heart a catacombs of you Always

I never knew you.
You never saw me.
Secrets we both kept.
Your disregard created a block.
Mask so many mask.
I never knew you.
You wouldn’t let me.

There is a version of you that loved me so deeply it seeped into this lifetime and now I grieve for something that doesn’t exist here.

Your words fall silent, swallowed by indifference. Tears shed in vain, misconstrued as manipulation, not the ache of a soul. Some wounds can’t be tended by those who refuse to feel. All that’s left is to weep, to unravel, to learn, and to heal in the shards of what’s left.

The air is too heavy.
Breathing feels labored.
I can’t feel myself.
Numb to everything but the pain.
Sitting in my chest
Tears forming
Tension building
Sadness has come for its Penance.
It’s name is you.

He noticed I have been staying home.
I wasn’t closing in on purpose.
Retreated is a soothing phase for myself.
A time to rest, go within on my feelings  sometimes to hide, most times to recharge.
It’s been days before I finally showered.
Simple cleansing baths was all I was doing.
Writing, drawing, listening to music, wine, reading, meditating.
Lighting candles cleansing my space literally and figuratively.
Watching birds, cats, and squirrels play from my window.
Listening to The Tortured Poets Department for what has to be the millionth time.
Allowing my emotions and creativity to flow through me.
Finding beauty in my face and body.
Seeing myself as art work.
Embracing myself and my unique qualities fully with love.
What may look like avoidance is really spending time loving and healing.

I put down my pain.
I picked up a paint brush.
Letting each line each stroke create something new before me.
No longer stuck in words that locked me in.
Life, love, and plans blossoming with hope and dreams.
I broke through the dark shades adding color back into the hues of myself.
My art always my reflection.