This is the truth.

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And this is the truth:
I wake up everyday,
and I do not
think
of God,
or the aching in my stomach,
or the beautiful creature
sitting next to my bed
whining for me
to let her out
onto the
dewy grass.
No.
I wake up every morning
and think,
“Will he still love me
today?”
I’ll sink my head
back into my pillow,
refusing to get up
and greet the sun.
Because
the only certainty I have
now
is that when the evening comes,
I will
still be loving
him.
That?
That is
terrifying.


We break it.

We break love when we try to touch it.

You learn a lot about love when you lose it, when you break it. 
I learned that we’ll beg God or the universe or whatever we believe in that makes us feel like we have a purpose to just let us start over.
And when we do get to start over, we realize all too late that starting over isn’t quite what we wanted.
We didn’t want the cracks and sharp edges to disappear, we wanted them to make us a certain type of beautiful; we wanted them to make the hugs tighter, the kisses longer, and the goodbyes harder.

Instead, starting over means pretending.
It means you go back to the, “Wait, are you in this for the long hall, or am I the only one who’s gone all in at this game table?”
Because I learned how quickly you can go from, “Hey, you’re on my team, my lucky charm; here, blow on my dice,” to sitting alone at a table with colorful chips that are supposed to be worth something.
But you don’t want to start over. All you really want is to be able to cash in your winnings.


For the past two months, I’ve sworn that I would buy cheap plates from Walmart just so that I could go out into the silence somewhere to hear their tiny, shattered pieces let out loud echoes that validate the loneliness we so easily feel.

Maybe part of me wanted to feel the control pulse through my hands and into my fingers that slid off the plates as I threw them only when I was ready to throw them; to hear the loud clash of breaking glass only to feel the anger and the hurt and the insecurity break with them.
Or maybe I needed to know that, if I so wanted to, I could go over and pick the pieces up just to put them back together;
to see that all of the broken slivers still formed shapes that so perfectly complimented each other so as to make a whole.

Whole. Such a broken word, at times.

I didn’t want to start over and pretend that there weren’t pieces of us left over.

I wanted to take the broken pieces and make us whole, even in spite of ourselves.


 

Foster joy yourself,  joy that’s dissociated from the human beings around you. 

 

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99 thoughts on “This is the truth.

  1. Reblogged this on Veritas and commented:
    Found this author today and my wife and I liked her writing so I wanted to throw more attention to her blog. Writers helping writers here right? Hope you enjoy. Check out several of her writings. God bless.
    Blured

  2. Very strong emotional words, truer words were never spoken about the hurt of lost love. Most the time we act like it’s not lost, only misplaced and “oh” there it is
    , I’ll just pick it back up again.

  3. Reblogged this on M.C Inspiration and commented:
    Every word is true! Bcc now I’m feeling all the same! Fear, loneliness and lost Ina world full of fake people … To where I’m going or to where my path will be honestly no idea. Tired from people, from their talks , how they only criticise you. Just tired not more.

  4. Wow. Beautiful. I have always loved poetry and how it can get your emotions portrayed in a deep way. I have always wanted to go throw plates up against a wall to break them! I have seen how some people need to completely break so they can piece themselves back together. Its a hard process to watch, but sometimes necessary.

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