it’s ok, you can let go now.

how to heal a broken heart?

you must love again

something

someone

get up

dry your eyes

dust yourself off

loss, is just a season’s weight

not a calling until death

you were not born

to exist

on crumbs

now go!

someone out there

is searching

for you.

— it’s ok, you can let go now.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photography by Liezel Graham

if this is for you, may your heart find all the courage it needs to love again.

it’s ok, you can let go now.

liezel

captive

i have tasted this poison before.

still i lift the cup again.

— captive.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

This is the second micropoem in my #HealingTheHurtChildWithin

series.

I don’t think that I need to elaborate on this one.

If this is you, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Sometimes, if we haven’t healed, we keep returning to the thing that holds us hostage.

For some of us this is an addiction—be it alcohol, food, sex, drugs, gambling… for others it is choosing a toxic relationship, or the same types of toxic partners because it’s all we know.

Perhaps it is choosing the same addictions or behaviours that owned the ones who love(d) you.

I would love to hear your insight into this,

liezel

Photography by Johann Piber.

fear has a hungry voice.

the fear that owns you

has a hungry

voice

falling

from

your

lips

when you are not looking.

— fear has a hungry voice.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

This is the first micropoem in my #HealingTheHurtChildWithin

series.

‘The fear that owns you…’

Childhood trauma or hurts that you have not dealt with, becomes another voice that lingers in the background.

It often speaks in anger, or in fear, when it shouldn’t.

It doesn’t speak up when it should.

It ignores things that it should not overlook.

It is easily triggered by things it shouldn’t be triggered by.

It says ‘yes’ when it wants to be loved, and ‘no’ when it is afraid of being loved.

When it speaks, it often leaves you wondering ‘why did I say that’ or ‘why do I react this way’?

It is a voice that is hungry—hungry to be loved, hungry to be found ‘enough’, hungry to be seen, hungry just to feel some sort of confirmation that there is still life and that it is worth living.

It always has a root.

I am still very aware of this other voice of mine. Healing has not been an overnight thing for me.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments,

liezel

Photography by Evie Shaffer.

a series of micropoems dealing with childhood trauma.

I have been working on a collection of micro poems that focus on the effects of (unhealed) childhood trauma, and disordered/chaotic relationships with primary caregivers on a child, and how they might affect the adult later on, and the way that these early traumas might then cause them to relate to relationships, love, (potential) addictions, their ability to handle conflict, and how they might as adults with deep emotional scars, negotiate their place in the world.

As always my poems are written partly from a personal place, and partly from my professional experience in mental health.

There is no right or wrong to my words, other than personal truth based on introspection, however there is nothing new under the sun and if you should find yourself in my description, please do look out for my posts in the next couple of days.

They be will short, sharp and sometimes bittersweet, but always I hope, a springboard for deeper reflection and healing.

Perhaps we can find some healing together,

liezel

Photography by Lisa Fotios.

i love you.

just as i was swallowing

the impossible blue

of the morning

sky,

the thing that knows my name

crawled

darkly

onto my lap, and

stayed

and for a moment

i was lost in every war

that ever

fought

me.

but you,

you with your three words

strung

on a sling,

your heart in your hands,

a pebble that slays.

— i love you.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photography by Flora Westbrook.

never underestimate the power of three simple words to fight big wars,

liezel

the beds in my grandmother’s house were heavy with love and i miss you.

the beds in my grandmother’s house were heavy with blankets and floral sheets—orange and purple and pink— that made me happy when i was eight, and nine, and six.

and again when i was twenty-one,

they were a cool, familiar weight on a cold night, and

here child, put a hot water bottle by your feet, or else you’ll catch your death, and i have never seen a winter such as this, and let’s have some hot chocolate before we turn out all the lights.

and all that love weighed the same as a soft, round body and it wrapped us up, and sleep was an easy thing to chase, then.

when you were four and i was six.

and now, i am on the other side of forty-six and you are forever forty-four, and i am pretty sure that’s cheating, and why are there no rules to this game, and

i have never seen a winter such as this, and

my sheets are white now, and unfloral, and i don’t really like purple, and every night i kick the duvet off my feet,

the air cool on my skin, so

that i can feel,

and move,

and

escape, if i need to.

there are things that are heavy in the dark, do you remember them?

and it turns out that it isn’t that easy to catch your death if it is not your time,

yet.

but if it is,

then it is.

and here we are,

you forever forty-four, and i am on the other side of six, and i am pretty sure that’s cheating, but i’ll let it go this time.

there are no rules to this game.

— the beds in my grandmother’s house were heavy with love and i miss you.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photograph by Jackson Jorvan.

a little bit of freeform poetry on a wednesday afternoon.

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