You betrayed me. I trusted you and you told me he would love me, but he didn't. He just held me. And that was enough for you, but not for me. I needed more. I needed the promise. I needed the hope and the future and the honor. And he didn't honor me. He held me and then he let me go. Left. Just left. Not saying he was leaving. He just stopped coming. Left me. You poor silly heart! You really believed it, didn't you? You believed he would love me. You did. He didn't. What do we do now, my heart? You don't really know much, do you? What do I do now with what you tell me? Trust you? Laugh at you? Ignore you? --- I must heal you now first because you are broken. Heal you. We'll do that first. Then there will be nothing left to do. from 'Broken' in My Heart
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(the 10th and last part) 10. Good Morning … ! Surprised? That's what comes from me going away so long and so far and not staying in my bed at night, but there's so much to see before breakfast, so much to do before the eye-curtains go up and let the light in & the night out the back door to wait in the quiet back street for the night-life to begin again. from 'Dreaming' in I sleep, I dream (night-life.html)
You speak. You always have spoken. I didn't know that. I used to hear you, and listen, and think that it was someone else speaking. (Maybe God!) I never recognized my own voice. How is that possible? When I hear you now, close & old, I know you. Now I do: My oldest friend, My only own heart. from 'Soft' in My Heart I still miss you incredibly. I miss your face close to mine, feeling your eyebrows & your cheek bones & your chin with my nose. I miss breathing close to your skin & filling up on the smell of you. I miss your breath, a bit smoky, the sound of your voice; how it vibrated in me when we lay talking together. … Why are you (still) the only person I want to talk to when I become quiet? Or even, not talk to. Just sit with. Quietly Not talking. from 'You' in You, Me & the others I miss the ground under my feet belonging to me. I remember it carrying me. I remember not doubting that it would. I miss the air in my lungs being mine to keep and to let go of. In and out. Mine. I miss the sun-shinings smelting in the top layers of my skin and staying there because they belonged. The sun was a part of my skin then. I was part of the light, part of the earth, part of the air. Nothing left me that wasn't mine first. It came to me because I owned it. The freedom. The keys to the Kingdom. I own nothing now. I am poorer than ever I thought possible. Only what is already in me is mine. The earth gives me nothing. The sun doesn't come. The air is foreign. I am very far from home. from 'Once' in Homeland I feel the air against me. It resists, like water. I have to push to keep moving. I breath heavily; like gasping while swimming, but I'm not: Only walking. I look normal (I think) to others. Not like a landed fish. I push forward & feel the air against my skin. Flowing over me: Underwater in the sunshine. I push. I move. I feel tired from the air fighting me & surprised: Why resist me? There's only breathing & pushing. From 'Me' in You, Me & the others Why do you do it? You fall so quickly, so ignorantly, so completely & pull me down after you, & I fall further. I fall in love alone. And there is nothing I can do but wait where no one sees me for the light to come back. Why do you do it? Why? From 'Heartbroken' in My Heart I love you. You are so infinite; bigger inside than any spirit place I ever encountered or knew, including God. (because I'm sure I never knew him) Unknowable, Like you really. I love you. I forget & so do you. You forget with me & before me & for me. & then I remember what I should leave forgotten, but you are purer. Not polluted with: I should or I should have or I must or I can't or I mustn't ... You have more faith than I ever thought possible for a hole in my chest. More faith in life & people & goodness & love & the future & yourself & even me. More faith than I ever hoped to live on. Much bigger & stronger & I love you. from 'Soft & Darkness' in My Heart (link: softness-darkness.html) Like falling on rocks.
Slippery, wet rocks, smelling of slimy seaweed & broken barnacles with the water swirling around them & coming in and going out to quickly. Sharp scratchy places that make you bleed So that you wonder what you're doing out there & you remember clearly seeing how beautiful it looked from the quiet beach & how you thought it would be better to stand out there closer to waves & this is how we learn not to go out to every hard place that sparkles in the sun. The fear of death will do that for you. ... I am sure I have believed that I'm most afraid of people. But, perhaps, people don't scare me as much as they should. Not enough for me not do go out to the hard sparkly places. Do we hide our souls in things to keep them safe till after our hearts leave us? Do we always know that that will happen? Is mine hidden in the dry, powder-white-brown blades of grass I remember stabbing my feet in summer? Or in those cracked hot pavements? Or the bleached-baking tar roads gravelling in the light & dark? Maybe in the hot sand, sinking away as I pushed up that same dune for the hundredth time, or in the broken barnacles stabbing and cutting while I breathed the salt and water deeply, into the lung hollows under my heart? Can we loose our souls through our feet by accident? Did I hide a part of my soul in that sagging, rusted fence that I never forgot seeing those huge bugs with the unrealistically long legs crawling through? What a strange place to hide a soul. & what about in those white flowers? The ones with the egg-yellow centres that hung heavily at my sister's front door & I never learned the names of after all those years because you don't have to call things that are close? (It's funny how I remember most things best with the souls of my feet and some things only with the backs of my eyelids) Maybe I just left my soul in the air. Hanging like the prayers of a thousand years hang in the Notre Dame; like a cloud of pollen dust being blown from the field into the forest, slowly, still visible with the other lost souls bumping up against each other there. & Maybe that's where all souls go. At the end. ... I look for my soul more now; now that my heart has grown stronger & harder. The softness of it is rarer & more beautiful to me. From 'Things' in Homeland
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