they say time heals all wounds
but how can you say
the scar on my chest is just a memory
when every time i wake up
and roll out of bed
and walk around the house
i check to see if he is still
sitting quietly at his desk
face illuminated by the numbers on the screen
and not fifty miles in the wind
with a knapsack on his back
and an apology letter in his fist?
and how can you say time heals all wounds
when my stomach drops into my toes
when i hear raised voices over the sound
of shower water hitting the tub
and my mind begins to play a movie
of popping veins and tv remotes
shattering against cream-colored walls
and i wonder if my world
will implode once again
because of wandering eyes and wandering hands
and a man too weak to cage his wandering heart?
so when you stand in front of me
fingertips against my skin
and ask me why
every time you step too close,
my eyes dart to the doors
as if I'm planning an escape route,
remember that softness and safety
have always been nothing more to me
than a smokescreen for shuttered lies
and empty apologies,
and try to understand that it will take time
for me to look at anyone
that claims to see the light in my smile
and not see the man that took
every piece of my childlike innocence
and dashed it on the pavement
to make way for his greed and rage.
and understand that,
while my heart may write a thousand
love letters to your touch and your smile
and your hands and your soul,
it still chases after the man who
was supposed to protect that little girl
and begs for refuge in his arms.
they say time heals all wounds,
and i want so desperately to
give up my fears to lean into
this prayer and let it be true,
but the terror that fills my mouth
and suffocates me with its heat
makes it hard for me to remember why
i should fight for a safety like you.
time has never been on my side,
but that look in your eyes
and the softness of your touch
may just be the cure
that this battered, broken heart needs
to finally be free of the betrayal
that wreaked havoc
on the innocence of her life.
YOU ARE READING
rage and recovery
Short Storya testament to the rocky road between rage and recovery and the thought that the two might not be so different after all
