I was screaming
You couldn’t hear me
My lips never moved
I was crying
You couldn’t see me
No tears flowed
I was drowning
You couldn’t save me
There was no water
I was broken
You couldn’t fix me
We had no glue



To Feel or Not To Feel?

I wasn’t ready
The bomb hit hard
My heart stopped
My breathe caught
Time seemed frozen
My life slipped through my fingers
I was numb
I craved life
My lungs ached for air
I wanted to feel
It was like drowning in knee deep water
Out in the ocean
Alone and afraid
A second attack
My heart raced
I still couldn’t breath
Time was idly mocked me
Pain consumed me
I craved enteral rest
My lungs burned
I wanted peace
Still drowning in an ocean
Only knees deep
Alone and afraid

Please Be Gentle

Good Mourning with Carole

Please be gentle with me, for I am grieving
The sea I swim in is a lonely one, and the
shore seems miles away.
Waves of despair numb my soul as I
struggle through each day.

My heart is heavy with sorrow. I want to
shout and scream and repeatedly ask
“Why?” At times, my grief overwhelms
me, and I weep bitterly, so great is my loss.

Please don’t turn away or tell me to move
on with my life. I must embrace my pain
before I can begin to heal.
Companion me through my tears and sit
with me in loving silence. Honor where I am in my journey,
not where you think I should be.

Listen patiently to my story, I may need to
tell it over and over again. It’s how I begin
to grasp the enormity of my loss. Nurture
me through the weeks and months…

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It’s not about you…

Because I'm Fabulous

I remember being pregnant with my children, feeling as their gentle flutters progressed into full belly flops on my bladder and painful karate kicks against the backs of my ribs. Back then I had no clue what my children would be like; they were more like ideas than real people. I’d sit in my rocking chair with my hands clasped gently over my stomach and wonder who they’d be. Dreaming of children who loved singing as much as me; envisioning singing rounds, our voices weaving together in harmony.

Then they were born. Short, chubby, bald people who looked a lot more like Winston Churchill than either their Dad or myself. People that screamed randomly, pooped on themselves, and considered “gah” to be an entire conversation. I still had no idea what they were like except loud, messy, and highly uncoordinated. They slowly evolved into their own people. Emma was colicky and had a desperate need to be…

View original post 1,392 more words

Wake Me Up

Wake me up when it all ends
When the cuts have healed
Wake me up when I’m not bleeding
And the temptation to give into this addiction is nothing but a memory
Wake me up when it no longer hurts
When the thought of you doesn’t make me break
Wake me up when ropes aren’t my enemy
And my lungs aren’t struggling harder than me to breathe
Wake me up when my finger isn’t on the trigger
And instead holding yours
Wake me up when my prayers have been delivered
And I’m no longer holding onto a thin and breakable thread
Wake me up when this nightmare ends
When I can finally see more than dark skies
Wake me up when I can see again
Before and after this storm
Wake me up before I drown
For grief has consumed me whole and shaken me to the bones..