I have become a mother to my self;
Nights where the weeping child within me,
Soaked pillows with the pain of pasts.
“It doesn’t last, my dear,” she said softly.
“One day it all fades away.”
I see myself in the faces of grandchildren
Laughing and free.
That could have been me, unbound, unfettered,
Allowed to have a voice and make choices.
To rewind time is risky, examining each loss,
Learning to grieve the drowning messages
Of the Pentecost and
Today I stand back and survey.
I am both resigned and dismayed.
I process emotion softly, gently, caring for
My own needs with quiet refrain.
Sing to myself, songs written from the pain,
Voice forever held inside the cold, dark
Days of long Alaska winters.
Outside of this history, the flower fields wave,
And I run through them, letting it all dissipate,
What would the handlers say?
“She escaped. She flew away. She didn’t cave.”
Strength is unwavering, becoming the core
Key to recovering from the bruises and blows.
One can’t know unless experience allows.
I hang the haunting faces from the gallows.
Running my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes,
I am becoming whole inside.
The wailing subsides into soft smiles,
As I paint my history on canvases,
Processing all of this.
Welcome to the healing wheel
Where we learn to deal with sorrow;
Where we expect tomorrow to be better,
Unfettered and released from the chains,
That were created from the pain of dis-ease.
I am released.
Featured in Rachel Thompson’s popular #MondayBlogs on Twitter.
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- Inner ChildRunning my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes.