Wronged
Been lied to, talked about
Abandoned…
It happens;
You endure it or die.
I’m a survivor.
You can get past it
But getting over it
Is a whole different problem.
At night sometimes
The words return
To haunt me…
Occasionally in dreams,
But mostly in scenes
Enacted on my ceiling.
Spiritual or emotional abuse
Isn’t so much a memory
As a bruise.
Ill treatment is one thing—
Lies are another.
If you lie to me,
There is nothing in you
I can honor.
If you’re sorry,
I forgive you,
But trust takes time.
Want to make it up to me?
The best way to reassure someone
Is to enter into their sufferings.
Above all, remember:
These aren’t hard and fast rules.
And the sad truth is
Not even the wind can
Bring a tear to my eye
The way you do.
Creo acompañarte, @johngeddes. Sé de las distancias y silencios. Estar cerca no siempre es acompañar. La palabra ofensiva no deja marcas ni rastros, aún así es arma letal. Somos la persona que se quedó siempre en la orilla esperando que te contaran cómo estaba el agua. Feliz noche!
Me encanta tu imaginería, Nancy, eres una de ellas escrita en el libro de la desgracia amarga :)
Really enjoy the closing of this poem, dear friend @johnjgeddes:
"And the sad truth is
Not even the wind can
Bring a tear to my eye
The way you do."
It is just like a poetic slap, a symbolic slap, to our faces...😀
Deeply sad but beautiful poem...
Love it...☕❤
Resteemed!
Thank you!
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Such a heartfelt poem, loved it.
thanks
You are welcome :)