Scale.

I know

a woman

round and

lush and

nurturing,

who fought

a war

with her body.

Believing

that

by becoming

less,

she would

become

more.

Reducing who she was

meal

by

meal

until her soul was

hollow

and still

the numbers

did not equate

with peace.

— Scale.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

The places I cannot go, yet.

I am

a house of

many rooms.

Quiet, dusty corridors

sunlight

gently

dripping in

like liquid

gold.

How I love to drink my tea,

a lovely Assam,

malty on the tongue

and comforting,

as I walk through

these spaces

gently touching

things

I had

almost

forgotten.

But not

yet.

It is comforting

to find

old friends.

You,

and you,

and even

you.

We must stay in

touch,

I say

to the past.

But

some doors

are

locked.

In dark corners

where the

light

does not

quite

reach.

And try as I might

when I stand before them

trembling key in

hand

I cannot enter.

I cannot enter

though

I must.

There is

work

to be done

within,

but not

yet.

And so,

instead

I sit before them

quietly

weeping

ink

onto paper.

Until.

— The places I cannot go, yet.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

When war breaks out (I bleed flowers).

My heart

splinters

under the weight

of these

memories.

Relentless in their

immortality;

demanding space

within my head.

Behind my eyes.

Insisting on life.

And still,

despite this war,

I choose to

bleed

flowers

instead of pain.

It is a quiet

rebellion.

—When war breaks out (I bleed flowers)

Facing your giants

You cannot

do

the hard work

of

healing,

until you have

grappled

with

honesty.

About them.

About yourself.

Until then,

you will

forever

return

to a place of

brokenness.

Honesty, is the key.

To healing.

To freedom.

— Facing your giants.

.

.

It has been a hard, hard week for me on so many levels. And this… this is where I am. Facing my giants.

Healing is hard work.

It’s dirt-under-your-fingernails, relentless work. And it requires a deep commitment to honesty.

About the ones who have hurt you, and about yourself — particularly if you have tried to escape past hurts by addictive behaviours.

It all starts with honesty.

Loss, has made me fertile.

All

the things

that were

ripped

from my hands,

have found their way

back

to me.

As words.

— Loss, has made me fertile.

Return to your Mother.

you,

are a child

of the soil.

if you have

lost yourself,

take off your shoes

and

let the earth speak

to your bones.

—return to your mother.

Nothing heals like nature.

Nothing feels like soil under your feet,

and green is the colour of peace and healing.