My peace was stolen from me.
Stolen from me in friendships that lacked reciprocity; where judgements and envy hid
Behind fragmented views
and seething smiles.
Stolen from me in childhood, by men who molested a 3 year old girl, and many more along the years, that violated my body temple.
My peace was stolen.
Stolen from me in parents who abandoned of literal fashion and of neglect and use...
All while never seeing
My world inside crack apart.
It was stolen from me, by lovers,
Whom I had attempted to find light in
Amidst the dark; their wounds rupturing my own, their violence staining my heart.
In every place I ran, the world stayed lonely.
In every place I returned, a matrix unholy.
I would creep back into my bed, and curl up from the dread. The ache. The soul biting agony shoved deep down in my chest, just so I could get through another day.
But nothing stopped me...
From trying to be loved. From forcing a stage so I could be seen...even when audiences turned their heads from me.
It was stolen from me in headaches, that raged before I hit puberty. Trauma electrocuting my system, depression taking over me.
I stole peace from myself, curbing every despair in whatever drug would care, to cure me of the temporary insanity...but they never did, did they?
I would learn to be grateful, for the little things that stayed. Shoes on my feet. Food in my flesh. A bed I could return to.
These things became my only peace.
And when water ran cold, I became grit.
When the gas went out, we burned wood.
When my animals died, and all others left...
That's when I turned back
to my bed.
They ruptured my peace. Even when I ran,
The demons in them followed me,
And with shackle and chain,
Split my soul into pieces
If it meant they could enslave apart of me.
It is in my days, he still harasses.
And the lover's that could not abide.
It is in their hurting eyes, the life forms I
Still manage to prop up,
Even above mine.
I do not know, most days at all,
How I find any will to stay alive.
My failures stacked. No assets in hand.
Just a trail of choices made by a little girl
Who grew to be no more woman.
If I came into this world, with no thing at all,
Perhaps that is how I must leave.
I can not say, I understand this life, nor its misery.
Love is foul. A fool to be played. A game I never understood. A power show. A force they delight,
and it has ever taken it's toll.
I found my peace, temporary and such,
In all the smaller things. Scrolling for hours,
Comedy and cats,
I found it in listening to the trees.
I take it in walks, short getaways, and more rest than perhaps I need.
I found my peace in the means of art, and things I could never be.
And when I try, Reiki and love, healing and sitting in my shadows...
I see there is possibility of release.
Yet still the dark of love is jest, and I'm not sure peace
Is meant for me.
