every woman who heals herself.

Recently, one of my micro-poems was given new life by the wonderfully talented artist and illustrator, Kimothy Joy.

The image has been flying around social media and I am both pleased and humbled by this.

Here’s to healing — men and women, so that we don’t pass on unresolved hurt and pain to our children and through them, our children’s children.

unravel.

and then

there was the time

.

. a lifetime,

really.

.

if i am honest.

.

and

honesty

opens the door,

does it not?

.

the time

where

i gave pieces of myself

away.

.

. my

. flesh and bone

heart of stone.

.

allowed

my body

and

my soul

to be carried away

by

thieves

who faded into the dark,

.

because i was not enough

for

me.

.

because the voice

inside

my bones,

. one half of my dna,

found

me

wanting,

.

until i believed the lie.

.

and all i have ever wanted

was to be

enough.

.

such a hungry word.

.

. enough.

.

and i have scraped

portions

of my heart

onto the plates of others.

.

. by feeding them,

i have tried to fill my hunger.

.

a feeble attempt at peace.

.

but i am not

enough

to fill the bellies

of other starving seekers.

.

this, i know.

.

and i am

still trying

to trust

that

everything that i am

is all that you have ever wanted.

.

. enough.

. such a full word.

.

that i can call off the search

for love

and

hope

and

(self) respect

and

all the other things

that

i have searched for

in the thorns

and

the arms

and

the words

and

the eyes

of another.

.

there are roots to destroy

and

flowers to sow

and

new doors to walk through.

.

this,

is a fierce

undoing of myself.

.

an

unravelling

and

unlayering

of who i am,

until

i find the beginning

. of me.

—unravel.

.

.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

.

.

Photograph by Nita.

graffiti.

when i was

twelve,

i learned

that

i could

love

someone,

and

fear them,

at

the

same

time.

that,

fathers

write

words

on the inside

of

their

daughters’

eyes,

that

will

blur

their

vision

forever.

a self-destructive

wall

of

graffiti,

forever

spoken

in other voices, despite

a holy whitewash.

i learned

that

those,

whose

eyes

are

backlit

with

the pure light

that

is

born

from

knowing

they are safe,

do not understand

the

language

of

spray-canned

letters

and

diy

painted-over

walls,

and

so,

i learned

to search

for

other

voices

who

knew

how to

wallpaper

the

inside

of the brain, and

this

work

is

never-ending, really.

it

never

ends.

but,

with

each

new

layer,

the

message

fades.

d

i

s

t

o

r

t

s

until,

i can

almost

believe

that

i

once

was

enough.

— graffiti.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

when the waters of long loch, sang to my bones.

today,

the

grey

waters of long loch,

caressed

her pebbly edges

in

an

embrace,

so fierce,

that

it

took

my

breath

away, and

the

autumn

clouds,

cloaked,

in november’s

softest

light,

smiled

gently

on

this

love,

and me.

and,

i held all my

loss

and all my

hope,

in

my

gloved

hands.

a prayer,

thrown

to

the

wind, and

the

waters

sang

an

ancient

lullaby, to

the water

in

my

bones, and

i understood.

and

this,

was

(finally)

enough.

—when the waters of long loch,

sang to my bones.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Photograph — Long Loch, Cove, Scotland.

© Liezel Graham 2018.