Sounds a heart makes when it breaks.
Drowning.
Make no mistake, there is no water here.
Its like when you left you took along all the oxygen, suffocating me with your absence.
So I immersed myself in self destruction, poison my only comfort.
What does such a thing sound like?
Well, it sounds like the same re runs I've seen a thousand times.
It sounds like soft sobs and deafening cries,
Muffled only by the tear soaked T shirt you left behind.
Sloshing of whiskey, and the clinking of empty bottles as they begin to form a shameful, toxic mound.
Phone ringing repeatedly until that final call leaves me unemployed.
Predictable, pitiful, I know heartbreak is nothing new.
My walls hear questions but no answers. Relentlessly I beg to understand.
Desperate attempts to neglect the mark you left on my heart,
My walls hear strange voices and pizza deliveries.
More reverberating bottles accompany unfamiliar exclamations of pleasure from forgettable men.
My walls remember the lectures of a well meaning mother attempting to ease the heart.
For months my walls heard the sounds of heartache, as it means to me.
But finally, a bit of laughter.
The first signs of healing from those emotional wounds you bludgeoned me with.
Music.
Poetry.
Friendship.
Love.
The sound of pencil scribbles on paper, Im writing again.
Exploring again. Living again.
No longer am I drowning but instead I am breathing.
Im finally able to breath without choking on the thought of you,
And that first breath after such an aggressive flood of grief,
that breath was like the first day of my brand new life without your stamp on it.
My lungs fill with air and release all the pain, all the memories, the promises.
Ill never forget you,
But I will never again let you be the reason I breathe.
It's that little pinch in the back of your chest. It starts as a pebble dangling from a string wrapped around the cold stone beating beneath your breast. With each beat the pebble seems to grow heavier... No longer a small rock but a beast of cement. It's weight pulls tightly like the tug of your angry stepmother tying braids in your hair. Deafening is the sound of silence, The songs of ghosts I thought long banished still screaming chaos in my ears. Blinding is the image of light within the black pit of sorrow that consumes me. I wish for your closeness, I long for the touch of warm sunshine against my cold, dank skin.
Smells, cozy.
Dove men's body wash in the green and grey bottle. Coffee beans and grounds, the pungent aroma of a coffeehouse, the pages of a new book, fresh cut grass, firewood, country air, homemade bread cooking in the oven, grandmas red sauce, onion hands, plant soil, crayons, assortments of herbs, stinky holistic tinctures, ripe peaches, lavender bath bubbles, hot kettle corn and funnel cakes from the fairgrounds, my moms sweet skin.
Outcast. A word misunderstood. I prefer terms like she 'swims upstream' and 'goes against the grain' or 'free spirit.' Outcast sounds so negative. Yes I'm different, and yes I'm proud of it. I don't fit in and I wouldn't have it any other way. Normal is boring. Predictable. Be weird and embrace the unknown.