My posts have been few and far between here for awhile. My life has been undergoing a transformation of sorts, and not a very pleasant one. Deeply personal and painful things are sometimes impossible for me to write about as they are happening. I find I have no words for them, and they have no voice with which to speak. Such has been the case, lately.

Nor am I much of a sharer with the really hard stuff. Growing up as an only child, I learned early on to deal with any crisis internally. But I am doing okay, finally finding I am able to process and translate some of the emotions and experiences into coherent forms. Like the poem below that I wrote last night.

For those who read it and can relate, it isn’t the entirety of my experience. Instead, it is just one snippet, one feeling and thought I had for a little while, and in the writing down of it, giving it voice and life and shape, was freed. I hope someone else might find that, too.

Tossed Away

Crumpled between two hands,
How crisply did I fold –
A paper heart so fragile,
Worn thin and weak and old;
I felt my world collapsing,
Twisting down upon itself,
Compounded by compliance
With every blow I felt.

One last satisfying squeeze
Sent this tiny, brittle ball
Flying toward the trash can,
But instead bounced off the wall;
In a deep, dark corner
I finally came to rest,
To lay in quiet solitude,
Unwelcome memory of a mess.

My edges slowly uncurled
And filled up full with dust;
Forgotten and abandoned,
But I didn’t make a fuss;
I learned to love the silence,

Finding comfort on my own,
Making peace with demons,
Learning to be alone.

Something still remains inside,
A great mystery to find –
Something raw half-remembered,
A thing pure and unrefined;
So I wait here in the darkness,
And when the time is right,
Worthy hands will find and unfold me,
Bringing all my gifts to light.