I will never be ready

When I awoke today there were long shadows
Accompanying my footsteps
they followed me into the cool morning.
Patches of crystals here and there
revealed how the frost
had caressed the grass
secretly overnight.

Just as for many months
those cold tendrils have crept into my sleep,
Bringing echoes of the unsaid
to reverberate in my home.

This story has been stirring,
held somewhere heavy.
Brewing and expanding and growing in force.
Until finally it told me
I will never be ready.

And knowing this
I could absurdly be more at peace
With speaking my truth.

Today I shared that sordid story
Today I gave words to the horror
Today I bared my soul
to a camera in a blank white room.

Now it knows my most agonising secrets,
it has seen the shame and disgust
And I got nothing in return
but a small reflection of myself thrown back at me.

I hoped I could gather the green of spring,
to breathe the energy of its verdant rebirth
and let it diffuse through my feeble bones.

But instead I saw my turmoil
pass me by in the distance.
I know the pain of those stories is so very real,
but I just couldn’t make my words feel mine.


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