Layered Confessions

Forcing myself to sit and listen to the layers within me.

Sorting through the wishing and the want, the need and pleading so that I might see truth.

I’ve never had much use for patience, yet I realize I must endure it’s process, if I’m to make you proud and find myself sitting near you.

There’s a stickiness after the honey is put back into the cubbard, that reminds me to wash my fingers, or make the choice to lick the stick away.

Maybe I’ve forgotten how to play.

While picking up at the end of the day, there’s a continuous stream of words I hear, “If you don’t then who will,” and so I bend at the waist and continue.

Beautiful blankets to fold, which keep us warm. Sleepy time tea at half past 12 leaves an empty cup beside me.

All require tending.

A flood of memories resume their normal station within my head each night, as the quiet takes over. I place yet another from my day beside them in hopes of room for one more.

Tears escape the wells in my eyes, as I wait for confirmation I was seen today.

Does anyone else feel this way…

I am my best friend, and my worst of enemies, and probably should be, but I’m tired of myself.

Now even I want to leave me.

Sharing my moments were intended for you. My heart steadfast in convincing. I want to believe.

How can it be love, in the end, I’m feeling.

Was I put here to take care of those near me? How much strength do I have? How much sadness can I hear? 

A season of sorrows pulls me closer – Can I endure?

Must I without you? Knowing full well I have Him and He should be enough to sustain me.

And do you know you sound like Him in my head now and I may never be able to live without you?

Confessions

And then my littlest voice says, “Stupid.”

My eyes look to the ground, my lip turns slightly to the side, I pack myself away and force that little voice back inside.

Enough for one day.

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Awareness Sublime

today I walked into the post office.
just inside the door that never locks,
and the silver trim protectively surrounding her,
i saw it.
up against the corner swept weekly,
probably daily in the winter,
almost already behind me,
was a lone white plastic sack.
the contents inside
dwindled down to one cucumber
someone’s summer bounty,
now one of yours,
left, possibly given, presumably abandoned.
I flicked the envelopes into the slot,
turned two keys looking for more requirements,
thankful there wasn’t a spinning combination lock anymore.
somebody take her home, I thought, as I pushed the door open to leave,
and listened as it shut.

Grit and Honesty

What appears scattered and
Left behind, always contains
A story.
Curious,
Superficial sees a nobody,
Welcomed to pass along by,
Wind blows a bit, she nods,
Fully accepting their shortcomings,
Expects nothing, aware.
Astute, is she dressed in commonly.
Yet, most eminent, she
Has use, furthermore, ability.
And she’ll wait
Longer than anyone ever
Thought possible,
For the one who sees
True grit and honesty,
In a lady.

Stoic Protector

Do you know the owl,
The one who sits now
Upon the middle limb,
The patchwork branch,
Of a once thriving essence?
Her skin is exposed,
Bare, light timber
Amongst veined,
Even freckled patches of,
Black and grey bark.
Owl remains perched,
Guarding at the helm,
As the brightest star sets
Behind thinning stock, and
What is now his tree,
Whether he chooses to
Believe it or not.
She’s the aftermath of
Witnessed abuse,
Pain felt,
And reoccurring sadness
As others depart.
He’s her stoic protector
And shall not fade
With the evening sun.