In a whisper
I was gone
Like a ghost
I hurtled down the stairs
It was over
Shots of pain
Across my heart
I was never yours
You just thought
You could stole
Parts of my soul
In the street that night
The pieces of my life
The chance to put them back together
And find myself again!
I know that nothing can change nor erase the violence of that special night. It’s there forever. It’s part of me as good memories are too. It was for so long a night I would recall with fear. The words, the scene, the threats.
It was tough and yet, thank God, it was, or I would have never left. I would have came back, despite the mess, despite the nonsense, despite me becoming a stranger to myself. And it would have been tragic!
This night gave me the chance to start anew. Sometimes the best is hidden in the most dangerous places.
This is my piece of poetry as part of Writing Prompt proposed by Mona.
Making choices is kind of hard to me. I tend to come and go and change my mind many times a day when I need to take a decision or make a move. I find it even hard to chose between yoghurts at the supermarket, so…
I always wait – too long – for people’s approval. It may never come. Still it reassures me at times. But it keeps me dependant of what others are thinking, which come with their perception of a specific situation. That may not be mine at all.
There is one subject, thought, where I do stand my ground, despite what everybody else think and would rather do – if they’re me – they’re not, thank God!
This is about my son’s dad. For me it’s no relationship except what was stated in the divorce papers. I don’t care that he is his father – I think this is complete bullshit by the way, I mean a father is a man who cares about his child, and not about himself only.
Anyway. I am not tender with him. I will never be. I will never trust him anymore. Maybe it sounds harsh but I know him. And I know he is no good for his son. Never will be, except maybe if he realize one day (I doubt it!) the mess he’d done and take responsability for it.
I gave enough of my joy, faith, love, enough of my time, money, spirit for this guy.
I remember being angry in the past towards people who could not understand and kept telling me to be more gentle and accept that people may change.
But who can really understand this feeling of opression and being manipulated with each word said or written?
I am the one with the experience, the one with the remains of the past, the one who struggled and rebuilt my life day after day. I am the one with the knowledge of what I can give and what can’t be given – a second chance.
So I let people have their ideas on the subject. Mine is not to be challenged!