And Yet

And yet, you choose to defend
With blind eyes and closed ears
Ignoring your Truth.

Hope seeps through your fractured heart.
Slowed evermore by Should, like
Sand, those tiny glistening bits of quartz,
clogging all sense
Of self.

Drawing a line between protecting and sacrificing,
Your search is endless and meaningless.
Blanketed by Ought, and held out of reach
By your own hand.

Extending forever outward in all directions
Never to realize
Nor to accept
Each dream, each desire stems from within.

| CLOSE | SAND | DEFEND | STEM | LINE |

-Weekly Writing Challenge #163 Poetry from the secret keeper

Not Quite Shards

Cracked pane,
lightning splintering jagged
edge to edge

Not quite shards,
Plates hold
Balanced

New space created
One to many
Delicate footing

Held fast
With hope and
Sheer will

Not quite shards,
Rumbling trucks pass by
Rattle the smallest piece

Loose
A glinting shower
Of dreams

All shards now
And an empty
Pane

Willow

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It seems our agreement shifted. And if I wanted to I would. If I believed anything other than the past would repeat itself, I’d behave differently. If I had it in me, I’d be right back on board. But,

I don’t have it in me. I don’t believe anything other than the past will repeat itself. In my deepest depths, recesses of my heart and mind, all my hidden coves, I know that nothing will change. I know that I will go through this over and over until I’m completely destroyed. Angry. Hateful. Resentful. Incapable.

And that’s not who I want to be. Not who I am. Not a person I’m willing to become.

I believe in goodness, in love. I believe in awareness, in knowing when you’re done, in trusting to know when we’ve reached an impasse.

It’s not that your aren’t worth it. You are my greatest love. You are everything I hoped and ever wanted. You are a kaleidoscope.

But I have scar tissue built up around my ability to go back. It’s marbled, knobby, held fast. I can see no, feel no, believe no other way.

The distance stretched too far this time. My heart is hardened. My hope proved insufficient. Asking for work, effort, belief, is out of the question. I’m tired. And I can’t.

I won’t.

A Measure of Weakness

Weakness exists in the mind of the slighted. You’re weak
In the mind of the one who cannot own. I was weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is an excuse. Protection against truth, honesty, ownership.
Weakness exists in heart of the broken. I am weak
In the heart of the lost. They were weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is a comfort. A barrier against pain, reality, ownership.
Weakness exists in the breath of the disillusioned. Crushed, forced from them until the final wisps trail out
Along paths worn deep.
And Empty.