Oh yes I can see what the problem is
Low self esteem, low self worth
It's like a door banging loudly in the distance
Like the howling wind in my ear
Of course it is you bloody stupid woman
Why am I paying for you to tell me what I already know
Well ... we shall have to see what we can do about this won't we?
I smile, I try to unclench my insides
But the rage is rising and it won't be stopped
There is panic as well ... panic at the rage
I must leave the room before I say what can't be unsaid
What a fucking waste time this all is
I suffer from what I've always suffered from
I suffer from post what-Ron-did syndrome
It's not in any dictionary or encyclopedia
It's an affliction of the heart and possibly even the soul
It's the outcome of something that's broken inside
And because it's internal there are no obvious wounds
Nothing about this is as it first seemed to me
I'd hoped for lasting peace, healing or some such
What I got were a lot of words which helped a bit
And then someone said something that made a difference
She told me that getting fixed was not the point at all
I should lower my expectations and make do as is
I'm tempted to stop sometimes you know?
I mean stop breathing, stop being
I look in the mirror and Christ I wonder
Wonder where one gets the courage to do that
And then I breathe and close my eyes and float
Life is a gift. Reject the gift ... reject the giver.
And there is that old question again
If there is a Giver why oh hell ... why?
Why would a Giver allow the unallowable.
That little children should be torn from childhood
And given wounds that just don't heal.
Or if they do ... I'd like to know how.
Praise Song by Lucille Clifton
14 hours ago