You have my word

One word can change your life.

Tag: truth

I will not be beautiful for someone else


I am tired. I am broken violets in a vase that hasn’t had water for days. I am cut at the base of a very long stem – growing bent under the weight of others’ sins carried on the wind. How do you grow up when you cannot see the sun? Cannot feel the heat on your leaves? No warmth in the day? No moon at night?

I die. My roots growing further into the earth trying to bury my alive. When I am hiding perhaps I’ll survive. Only dirt is seen by the naked eye, but I…

I grow silently beneath the soil. I wrap all my limbs around rocks that told me I couldn’t and hold them so tightly. They anchor me. I tell them my secrets hoping my stories will bounce back with an echo of truth I don’t already know. I am only a seed below.

Scattered. Like dust. Shattered. Like someone just put me here and expected me to be something beautiful. Something for show. A feature in a building they call home.

It’s a house made of aging bones and hollow noises and records that play on too-loud speakers because why fix a thing that isn’t completely broken? Yet. It’s only a little out of shape. The music is still in time. In time.

In time. My heart no longer beats in time to the right rhythm. Broken violets in a thirsty vase asking for questions to be asked. Why keep them if they’re dead? What if they rot?

I’m not saying they’re entirely ineffectual – I’m a conversation starter at least. What will they speak about with a flowerless mantlepiece? Will they even miss me?

Not planted or picked for display. Just somewhere. A seed. Growing my own way and looking for the light.

Do not go gentle into those empty lies


Please stop coming to me in my dreams. Please stop curling up defenseless with me while I’m asleep. Please stop filling me with your memories. Please. I can still feel you. Move. Please.

I’ve moved forward; I’ve moved on. I’ve moved so you wouldn’t find me standing still. I have spent all this time being unfrozen, melted to stay away from you. Running. Running water. Free flow. Free. Free. You freeze me. Hard.

I have found value in soft, smooth strength. Slow. Not stuck fast. Slow down, baby, and find yourself. Find your fears in your own night’s sleep. Befriend them – know them and you will know yourself.

Dreams rest between terror’s teeth. Get up close. Tremble with its breath on your neck. Stand up straight. Hold your head high. Do not go gentle into the lies you’ve become comfortable telling yourself. You are done with these, love.

There is nothing left for you in those lies – there is no you left in those lies. Life. The simplest adjustment and you’ll come into so much… more… without me. And that is what is best.

You belong to you. I belong to myself and my own dreams and sleep and peace, and you do not need me. It’s okay.

For the first time I don’t feel guilty for you walking away. I’ve drowned my doubts in those dreams. I am enough without your memories.

I wish you well. Now sleep.

Dreams and beasts burning hotter than the stars


She is alone. This has been her fear all along. It is dusk on an open road and mountains and unmoving turbines and the moon.

There are more miles between here and there than she cares to admit. She won’t admit anything. The abandonment. The inadequacy. The wedding that shouldn’t have been. The affair. The family. The abuse. The divorce. The abandonment. The abandonment. The child in her arms that isn’t hers.

There are many beasts that walk these streets – bigger and burning hotter than the stars. The scars on her hands show how busy broken messy busy broken she has kept herself. She has kept herself. To herself. Toward herself. Away from herself. Abandonment. Tired. So tired.

She is alone. Alive but alone and what is living when you can’t hear another heart beating?

You are much more diamond than dirt


I pick you up like a diamond, like all I’ve been doing is digging and here you are. Small. The kind of size I can comfortably fit my arms and dreams around. Glistening. Those eyes that absorb more than their fair share of colour and light. But life isn’t fair and you were cut for more.

If I said, “You’re a diamond in the rough,” you’d probably give me a slap. I might like it but that’s cliché, lazy writing and you deserve better than that. So here goes: You are a whole fucking mine and my face is covered in dirt.

Like Maya, I’m convinced you have diamonds at the meeting of your thighs… and beneath your tongue… and in that smile, those lips. The sentence is possibly less poetic but the sentiment still exists.

I don’t know much about diamonds because my experience is mostly in dirt, but I do know a good thing when I see it. You are a good thing. You are good – not made less by the places you’ve been. A diamond’s value lies simply in what it is – who you are. You are diamond.

Precious. Picked up. Protected. Preserved. Just right, but not perfect. Perfect would be untruthful and far too unattainable for this pile of dirt.

It would be my pleasure, my dear, treasure, to hold you in my hand or cradle you until the right hands have you. Hopefully mine. But I have all time, and us, to see where you land up.

A pendant perhaps, bringing only good luck. A deeply set ring of “I do” – I do want to traverse this dirt road with you.

My diamond. Sharp and rough, uncut and not giving a fuck. That’s my favourite thing about you.