Saturday, February 11, 2012

Thanks for Nothing

Old friends can't understand why I don't scream, tell you to act like a man; Wonder why I never threw your clothes out on the lawn or called you vial names that surely you deserved. But I don't have the strength to scream at you as this drones on and on. I never had the heart for it in the first place.

I think a lot about all of the things we built, you and I. And all the things you took away; home and trust and of course, my naivety, which lingered too long anyway. But I will tell you this, if I could hate you, I would surely hate you for taking the sparkle from the young one's eyes. 

I think about our seaside days and how you took those too, stuffed them in your pockets while scanning for anything else that was left.  I wish you could see the old ones' faces, and the worry that you've etched. You left dying dogs and dead trees, leaning - debt the only thing still growing. And my sleep? You took that too. Left me to sit in that old purple chair, ready to spring to defense, against demons in the dark.

Is this security lost? Well, what else could it be?

But if I've learned one thing, it is this: I was always at risk. So are you. And she is too. And so is every other breathing being. Security is not a steadfast friend. So go and flash your crooked grin. Laugh your obscenities. Tell anyone who will listen how you left me holding this empty space, where nothing is as it was, will never be the same again - this space where  nothing  is  for  certain.

But if you knew, if you only knew how that nothing space has carried me, then you would want that back too. Oh how my sighs fill that space with grace exhaled. How I line the walls with thistle down, color it with violet, scent it with honeysuckle, wild.  Vines, accepting - reach out all around, laughter grows in yellow patches, roots of faith run deep. Thank you for the gash of betrayal. How else would I have learned to make this balm? Thank you for the greed that schooled us in the art of doing without. Thank you, for heartbreak, glorious, that freed my own song, silent for so long. Thank you, thank you for that space given, that space where nothing is for certain but where every thing is revered.


  1. The future always holds promise. Sometimes the past can make it difficult to see.

  2. look at your title

    I think when you began writing you started out feeling one way and came out seeing ..
    feeling another way....

    your email doesn't work
    email me

  3. Yea the title, well I thought I was being clever, but you are right, I was a little woe-is-me-ing at first, in real time too. It took awhile because sometimes when your standing in the mess all you see is the mud on your shoes. Thanks for letting me know about the email. Suz.

  4. by the by....I loved the can really tap into the emotion of it all
    terrific lines.....and don't woe is me
    you are gold girl
    let the mud on your shoes be the regret that will be his
    carry are traveling the right road

  5. Hey,
    I love your writing. So heartfelt, so raw. Thanks for visiting me too. I hope that we can continue expressing to each other and to others what is really important to us.

  6. Hi Teri, Thanks for stopping by. Glad my browsing brought me to your blog.