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Stronger.

My heart aches, breaks, and tatters and ripples with the grief and pain of those I love recently.  This is the best way I know how to deal with it.  There are no words of comfort, no answer to, “What do you need?” and often times … the only true way to heal is to cry out.  In my own way of dealing with all of this pain I write.  It does not measure the pain of those who are grieving, but perhaps in some way it will assure someone out there … you’re not alone.  There is a reason to reach out.  To believe.  To cry.  Your tears matter.

******

 

She sits with the silence of thirty years of wonder

how it brought her here to this time,

when she had the hunger,

and it went.

with a breathe

that stung her.

Why believe?

Why Reach?

Why Try?

Let the pain fly.

Sometimes,

You’re stronger when you weep.

 

She cries.

The hours spent just to try,

so they can see her for who she is

and the second it’s blown away

with a rumor.

An innocent kiss

turned ice without honor.

Mommy, help me.

And it went,

with a breath,

that stung her.

Why believe?

Why reach?

Why try?

let the pain fly.

And everything else … keep.

 

She can’t write.

Missing man inside the picture

of a perfect family,

lost inside a bottle,

a bag of indecency.

Choosing himself and his agony

over the bills and me.

Dear God,

her letter starts.

And where it ends.

And it went

with a breath that stung her,

Why believe?

Why reach?

Why try?

let the pain fly.

Sometimes,

You’re stronger when you weep.

 

And she dreamed inside her mind

that she was better

than what she’d built

and could build better,

so she walked away

and started over.

But the debt built

and the hearts of those she left behind

broke.

She’s said no.

But the scars still stung

and his beatings still won

till her soul opened up and said

Why believe?

Why reach?

Why try?

let the pain fly.

Sometimes,

You’re stronger when you weep.

 

And a friend doesn’t have the words

and a mother can’t speak to the pain

‘and a daughter’s arms can barely reach

and we all cry out for the exact same thing.

Why believe,

Why reach?

Why Try?

let the pain fly.

Sometimes,

You’re stronger when you weep.

 

And he was gone before I could say goodbye

a worn letter in my drawer-side,

his last words, “Never forget this could be the last,”

and my laughing into the phone

as we talked about the past

and our dysfunctional family

who we loved anyway.

If I’d had known to tell him

how he’d be eternal,

I’d have talked about the cancer.

Why believe,

Why reach?

Why Try?

let the pain fly.

Sometimes,

You’re stronger when you weep.

 

Said the soldier to his children

when he held them

for the first time.

Said the mother to his son

after his divorce,

and the father to his daughter

after all she’d lost from just one choice,

said the boyfriend to her grief,

and the best friend after failing,

and the moments we regret

losing

because we didn’t have the strength

to stop refusing.

The ache to our belief.

The hunger in our reach,

The trying

and the flying

of the grief.

 

 

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