Monday, April 22, 2013


Those old ghosts have found their way

back to my room in the dark.

I feel their hands upon my skin

just like all those years ago.

Taking what does not belong to them

leaving terror in their wake.

Something gone that will never return

emptiness in its place.

The numb became protector

where nothing had to hurt.

Where I could be normal and know how to act

without crumbling into fear.

The tears would come at the very worst time

the intimacy exposed.

I never knew how to tell her why

I couldn’t give her that part of me.

The reason is simple really

it was taken long ago.

The hole that was left in its wake

the hollow gaping wound.

Without the numb to hide within

the false sense that I am alright.

Without the loss of inhibition

I have no idea how to act.

I’ve never found that motion

completely unrestrained.

Never felt truly safe enough

to tell you the names of those tears.

I needed you to touch me

in the very deepest place.

In the tiny and broken parts of me

to tell them that they were safe.

I needed to let all of it go

yet you let go of me instead.

Now those broken pieces are aching

to be touched and to be felt.


1 comment:

  1. Never felt truly safe enough
    to tell you the names of those tears.
    . . .
    Where this powerful poem made me ache with compassion it also gave me hope that one so capable of describing such pain can, in the future, be healed and forever loved.

    Beautifully written.