On the road to acceptance… maybe

So I write bad poetry when I’m emotional. Think it’s when my picture to words translation matrix breaks down a bit, and I find free-form and short statements the only way to put my thoughts into words.


I have spent tonight revisiting my past.

Unpacking tissue-paper wrapped memories;

viewing them through this strange new lens.

Reviewing. Reassessing.

The jigsaw starts to come together.

Not complete yet. Not even close.

But for the first time I can start to see the pattern,

and think maybe I can complete this puzzle.

There are still some pieces missing

and I will need some time to accept

and to mourn, and to grieve.

For the child I was, crying in the night,

when no-one came.

For my life now, forced to accept the help

that I do not want and refuse to need.

For the future I planned, and now will never have.

So, only partly whole, I put the pieces back.

I wrap them up carefully

and leave them there until I am strong.


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