I wish this would've been written for me (aka Fairy Tale, Lost)

A Conversation with Myself:

Broken hearts, when destroyed for no reason, have a way of twisting you on the inside. You lose a part of yourself. A piece of you dies and sometimes that piece festers and infects the whole of who you are. It can devastate your life, cause you to question reality...and especially yourself, (can I trust anyone?). You begin to question your own sanity. It haunts your existence and consumes your time and paralyzes you and renders you unable of giving the amazing amount of love that you thought you had to give to others who are so much more deserving.  But you find no love left--not even for yourself.  Not even for God.

"But it doesn't have to be this way...only if you let it" they say. "You're the better person, and there's a big world to make up for that small piece you lost" they say.

I guess that's true.  I guess it sounds like those are the right things to say..  But...God help me...I know I still wish this had been written for me. 

However, I know the truth...now.  I know it wasn't.  None of them were ever written for me.  I hate the consuming pain and grief with it's pounding heart and light headedness and gut twisting sensations that make it difficult to breath, or move.  Wondering that if you dare to stand will your knees really support the weight of your thinning frame?  I hate that I was such a fool and allowed someone to treat my body, my spirit, and my heart so carelessly.  But this is my penance.  After all, I invited him in to the depths of me.  I opened every door.  I trusted.

I hate that I trusted someone who used me and was capable of throwing me away and treating me as if I never, ever was Anything.
At.
All.
Ever.

It's the feeling of insignificance that causes ones spirit to wither and die a little more each day.


When I catch you when you’re falling
Will you tell me how you fell?
When I hold you when you’re crying
Will you let me share your tears?
When I help you find the answers
Will you tell me of your questions?
When I love the beauty in your years
Will you let me see you smile?
When I make myself a poem
Can I sing for you my song?
When I help you unfold your wings
Can I teach you how to fly? -------------
When you tell me how you fell
You help me find my balance
When you let me share your tears
I no longer need to cry
When you let me see you smile
I know the beauty in our years
When you tell me of your questions
You help me find the answers
When I sing for you my song
You make my life a poem
When you learn to use your wings
You teach me how to fly -------------

Naked

I wasn't sure I would ever post this for public consumption.  I wrote it while dawn was breaking one morning last week and I sent it to the muse that inspired it.  I am sharing with you because it is me...at my most Naked...and it is the way I am feeling tonight.

Be blessed.

Naked

You never forget the exact moment you are aware you are naked.

Absence of the image, bare of the armor.

The moment when time stops.

The moment you hand over your heart.

Other people and sounds quickly disappear,

And you are blissfully transported to another reality...

Your face--your eyes especially--became the center of my awareness,

The center of my universe

It was in that moment I stopped fleeing...fearing... fighting

And for the first time in forever,

Indulged Hope.

Ah Love...

What a wretched, horrible thing it is.

Vulnerability, with its sickly, weak sensation

Gently caresses the base of my throat

And then begins to squeeze.

I feel my strength, and my resolve

Leave quickly and completely.

The moment I heard my first fairy tale as a child

I began looking for you.

It was a long and painful journey

The walls grew high

The heart grew cold from defeat

Instead of you

I found safety.

Being vulnerable is saying "I love you" first

And not hearing it echoed back.

Being naked is being aware that you stand alone
And exposed.

Realizing that the unknown is an ocean.

You're in the middle of it and suddenly remember  

You never really learned how to swim.

What I wouldn't give

To return to that first night.

A night sky filled with countless stars,

A future of endless possibilities.

The way you kept looking at me

As if you couldn't convince your eyes to look away.

You told me,

"The broken heart is the one that is still beating"

I would add,

"Real hearts break and bleed,

That's how you know they are real."