I stared at the biscuit box,
the chocolate, crisps,
empty cases and a loaf? just
bread crumbs, and wept.
I cried for the pain that I
was trying to suppress,
the old hurts that oppressed.
———————
and I knew that I was heavy and
hopeless, I would have to go
through this again, and
again, I wept over the waste.
I loathed the loo where I
would be last, holding
myself in contempt
and disgust.
——————–
I saw myself as beyond
bad, gravely guilty and
prayed for strength to
see food as others do,
those who do not fear a
forkful, and me scared
using it to hush the
screaming child in me.
——————–
My brother died in a
dreadful way and in grief
something changed. I
was hopeless and hurting. l
felt like he saw and grieved
for me. I was ashamed that
he might know and feel pity.
But did he speak to God?
His parting gift to me?
———————–
Courage came and I gave
my child a voice to be heard.
It took time and talking,
it took crying and walking
away from the things that
cause my resolve to crumble.
I crawled like a baby, and
slowly, held a new rope.
———————-
I fell, but ruled out the
feelings of fractured failure,
the nagging voice that sternly
speak, you’re weak, you won’t
win. I listened for the voice
that says, I love you as I
see you now. I’ll be beside
you, and together we will
———————
look back and see how
his hold has lessened.
You have changed, and now
tell others that there’s
sometimes a way away from it?
And they might too cry out and
send their
clattering
chains
into
the
abyss.
