On turning the pain of loss, into healing.

loss,

has carved

pain

into

my bones.

but,

it filled

my mouth

with

songbirds.

—On turning the pain of loss, into healing.

On feeding pain.

and what of

this hunger

that weeps

in my belly,

but lives in my

my soul.

it took me a lifetime

to realise that food

only quiets the ache;

never satisfies it.

—On feeding pain.

When you have changed.

And you will have to fight,

hard,

for them to hear you.

And though they might

have walked through

your life

as a friend does,

they will need proof

of this (new) change.

This metamorphosis unauthorised

by their hand.

And

it

will

hurt.

All change does.

But,

take heart.

You have grown,

roots have strengthened;

searching

for more to

nourish

this new hunger in your soul.

Leaves have withered,

in places,

yellowed,

and dying;

making room for more

growth,

that they will find

uncomfortable

to sit beneath.

At once, preferring the

sparseness

of

you,

before.

Not this new verdant

canopy that

obscures

their view

of

you,

now.

Your rawness

will

frighten them;

disturb

their sense of

right,

and,

you will be wrong.

And so,

fight,

if you must,

to prove

the worth of your

new birth;

but know

there are others,

many,  many

others,

and they will come

and linger in

your shade

and

there,

where others found nothing

of worth,

they

will find

shelter and rest.

—When you have changed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not enough.

You say that I am nothing

special.

Not beautiful,

enough.

Not thin,

enough.

Not popular,

enough.

Not,

enough.

But,

see how I can turn

my pain

into flowers;

fragrant.

An offering

for all the others;

not enough.

—Not Enough.