Another relationship sent away,
A recruit unable to heal the wound
Created by abandonment
And affirmations of worthlessness
Trenches dug during infancy,
Deepening over the years
By shovels made of “I hate you”s,
“I wish you were dead”s
And the constant repeat
Of the evidence that she didn’t matter
To anyone after all.

So the psychic plea gets sent
Into ethers
“Come and tell me I matter,
That you won’t hurt this child
Even when she rails instead of embraces,
Even when the indignation is
The only thing being expressed,
Even when the only thing left
Is the unreasonable need to feel safe.”

The thing is,
A failed recruit sent away
Is soon enough and simply
Replaced by another recruit
Who is only slightly more or less qualified
To recreate the opportunity
To solve the puzzle,
Untangle the message,
Heal the wound.

But when conclusions are reached,
Again,
She finds herself alone,
Comforted in her bed by books,
Paper, and her dreams,
Always her dreams.

She does possess the fundamental understanding
That the wound cannot be healed
In the old ways,
That somehow, she must finish this journey
With a map and not a lover
To help her navigate the narrow passages,
The steep inclines,
Avoiding the sheer drop-offs of the cliffs and crags.

And she understands that
The Universe is there all along the way,
Guiding steps and breaking falls,
Giggling and sending in the dragonflies,
Riding the wind that lifts her hair,
Releasing the rain that soothes the soul,
And holding her hand every step of the way.

06/12/2009

Posted on 06/12/2009
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie