32 years

32 years since I’ve seen your face, since I’ve held your hands or heard your voice. 32 years of longing.

I still remember the twang of electric pain shoot through my body and throat as I heard those words… “he died last night”. 

The stillness was deafening, the finality I want to say overwhelming as I slammed the phone down, but so much more than this. I still haven’t found the words, in 32 years of longing.  

You were always my safe haven, the ear to listen and the shoulder to cry on. You were my whole world, until my world was swiftly taken. 

32 years of longing, and I have still never found respite. Still searching for you in every face, in every day that goes by. 

32 years of longing even though my child mind is now grown. 32 years foreboding, waiting for another foot to fall, perhaps my own. 

32 years, thiiiirty twoooo yeaaaars, I’ve been longer without than ever with. The moment you left us was the moment I wished to leave too. I knew I’d never find such love again, I just knew. 

And 32 years has proven me right. Time and time again. My heart still aches my tears still wet, as I try hold on through the fear. 

32 years. 32 years.

In memory of my loving father 💜 x

After thought

It seems the kinder I am the worse I am treated. What a fantastically bizarre conundrum. So the only choices I have really are to continue being myself and being cruelly mistreated, misunderstood and remain alone for all of eternity… Or to change and turn into something vile and reflect back the hatred, avoidance or distain I receive. But the thing is neither of those options make me happy. I never win, in a world where I am constantly told how I have it easy because of how I look or who I am. I never win. Just brought in close enough to be mistreated and then forcefully released again and shunned. Nobody actually knows me, nobody ever bothered to ask, though I am told who I am repeatedly.

This world baffles me, but you know what? I’m not sure I even want to understand why anymore. I am just obviously so different to where life has landed us that I no longer fit in. Like some kind of weird orphaned troll, festering away under my foot bridge of genuine compassion and kindness. I offer it to all those in need, and in turn I am isolated, cut off from society and laughed at for being so naive to be kind to a passer by or to forgive the unforgivable. I am a freak to those that succeed in this lifetime. Every day that rolls on, I feel the sadness rise within, now at my throat choking my words, I feel it reach my neck and dance below my scull ready to envelope all of me. I’m not sure how many breaths I have left before I’m submerged forever unable to take one more step.

After all I have endured, after all I have overcome it will be some tiny insignificant moment that will take me down. Like tripping on a stool or being spoken down to one last time that will obliterate my weary heart. She is barely pumping, so wounded from every insult and careless fumble as she shyly still tries to smile so others can too. It will be something so insignificant, that people will laugh at my ruins and further critique my worth. She should have tried harder, smiled more, reached out more, been more and made more they will say. It will be my fault and I will be forgotten as quickly as I came. Back into the nothingness where thoughts may go to die, into the after. 

Stack the pieces

One last piece

Stacked upon me

Heavy piece by piece

Now coming three by three

I thought you were a lover

But no not for me

Killed me with that kindness

That fake bullshit make believe

No more endless forgiveness

I will no longer seed

Never give you the time

Nor a day to appease

You only wanted to see me bleed

Came back after eons

Twist the knife as you please

I just always accept and agree

But no, not this time, this time I leave

Hear my silence now

As I pick off these fleas

Just the stillness left

Wringing in your ears as I leave

No longer can you drag me down

No longer will I heed

Not even worth a story

Nor even a good deed

Open arms 

Sometimes I wonder if he hated me only because I saw behind his mask. I saw the vulnerable sensitive parts of him and I was still OK with that. I loved those parts. I just wanted him to love them too.

He wanted me to fall in love only with his own delusions of what he wished he could be. He wanted fantasy over truth. But the truth was much more powerful and beautiful than any fantasy ever could be.

He was more than he believed, yet he could not allow himself out in the light for fear of being seen. What he didn’t realise was he was making himself less than, not more. I hope one day he finds his way home, into open arms.

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