my heart is such a tender,
fertile place.
i won’t let just
anybody walk through it.
— refuge.
© Liezel Graham 2018.
Tag: Inner Healing
on why i write.
on healing (from the past).
i am seeking out
all the places
where my voice
was stolen.
leaving poems
filled with flowers,
in exchange.
— on healing (from the past).
© Liezel Graham 2018.
Photograph by Lisa Fotios.
A repost of a poem I wrote last year.
It seems right.
liezel
on finding the ones who will hold your heart.
look for the ones who lean into your story.
the ones who don’t shrink back from your pain.
the ones who can hear what you are not saying.
these, are your people.
love them fiercely.
— on finding the ones who will hold your heart.
© Liezel Graham 2019.
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.
forgive yourself.
put yesterday down
outside the front door,
and leave tomorrow
by the window.
the light will shine on it
soon enough.
hush now.
this is today’s song.
a simple refrain.
speak to yourself with
love,
and rub kindness into your
skin.
see,
the wild flowers
are waiting to bloom
from all your broken places.
— forgive yourself.
© Liezel Graham 2019.
on the inside (i am outside).
i wish that i could say
that i have
all the answers.
.
or perhaps,
. just a few.
that would be good.
.
that i have
. somehow,
grown fat with wisdom.
.
i have neither.
.
. all i have in my hands
are words.
.
. and none of them are smooth.
.
they are hungry words
that know how to search
when the lights have gone out.
.
they are strong words
that know how to break down walls,
one stone at a time.
.
they are brave words
that know how to open windows,
when all the doors are locked.
.
they are tender words
that know how to soothe what is broken,
because they remember.
.
. because,
i remember
. what it is to need water
and hope.
.
and i have
somehow
stumbled right into the middle of my life
still carrying a bag of questions.
.
. rebellious ones at that.
or, so i have been told.
.
not fit for one who stands in the shadow of the cross.
.
. my coat,
is too bright
or too faded
or too there-is-something-not-quite-right
and
we can see right through that cloak
and
she does not fit in,
. here on holy ground.
.
i know.
. i know.
.
but i can pour shame
onto paper
in
the
shape
of grace.
.
and i can string words into lights
that stubbornly lead the way out.
or up,
. if you believe.
.
and
this relentless unmasking
of flesh
and
bone
and
heart
and
soul
into words,
. is all that i have been given
in exchange
for
all
that has been taken.
.
and still
it is not enough?
.
.
—on the inside (i am outside).
.
.
© Liezel Graham 2019.
