Journey

Blur of motion

Spinning earth

Beating heart

Rising lungs

A pause here

A whisper there

But now I sit

Still

You open me up

You dig deep

Running fingers

Over sinew and marrow

Until you have reached

My deepest being

In this stand still

This pressed stop button

You spell out recovery

With the letter J O U R N E Y

It will take time

One step

At a time

And I breathe

With space and time to do so

No rush

I have brought you here for this

I have given you this time

This place

For this

A healing journey

The road is long

But the light is bright

We will pace ourselves

There is no hurry

But the time is now

Let's begin.

Through the Hallways of Pain

These hands are grimy
This mouth unclean
These eyes have seen things
They should not have seen

This body is tattered
This heart has been ripped
These bones are worn down
They are cracked and chipped

Those hallways are marred
Those rooms blackened holes
And behind those doors lies the silence
That should never be told

But you take me by the hand
And you lead me to this place
You ask me to face things
I never wanted to face

You tell me "touch the walls"
You tell me, "open doors"
And you hold me in your arms
As I cry on those floors

Then you wash my bruised body
You are gentle with my pains
You wrap me up so softly
You clean up all the stains

You whisper to me gently
Holding shaking hands
"My love is complete
In victory you'll stand"

Porcelain Doll

A porcelain doll laid on its side
Face dry from tears uncried
Eyes open, staring straight
Unblinking, waiting, wait

One comes along and sees her there
Picks her up, holds her near
Eyes open, she stares ahead
Missing her place lain on the bed

The warmth begins to seep in
Past the her cold, hard, white skin
Though she is empty she feels warm
But where to go, she feels torn

The bed, though cold, she knows it best
But in these arms are heat and rest
Inside her seems to start to drown
And slowly one tear trickles down

The poem

The poem waits
I am too fragile now to read it.
If it were tears they searched for
I am overwhelmed by them now.
I don't see a time when I will be strong enough to read it.
But this poem doesn't wait for strength.
It waits for the opposite:
Vulnerability.
It waits for hope.
It waits for me.

Home

Home.
Some people emit the sense of home
From deep within themselves
Their identities
So strongly
That someone like me
Never knowing that feeling
Wants to crawl inside them
To their cores
And just take a nap
In a
Home.