I have read a lot of encouragement messages on social media that talk about walking away from broken relationships, holding your head up, and going forward. When I would speak with young women and teens and hear their pain, their truth was something they couldn't bring themselves to share. They believed that only those that treated them badly, saw the real them. They couldn't let go because they thought it was their only chance of finding love. Even in the church there are many people who do not believe that they can be truly loved. They see themselves as unloveable, not enough. These women touched me deeply and this poem was inspired by them.
The was a Time
There was a time when she was enough.
It was brief,
but the light that streamed into the window of her tiny bedroom
was brilliant.
She'd dance with the dust motes, floating in the air,
flinging her arms from side to side
and feel the pain of hope.
Those days were never long but she'd turn the spines of the books
to the back of the shelves.
She refused to read the records of her past that would make short work of any of her dreams.
She lived for those moments, where again,
She was all that she needed to be,
even though,
eventually,
a new page would appear in her hand and slip to the floor.
She'd keen for the loss of the man
who rejected her over and over again.
She hoped for one more moment of being seen,
for the words that seemed to speak her true name,
and the happiness that only worked if she lied.
It wouldn't last,
but if, by sheer force of will,
she could make it happen,
she would.
Again and again she reached out in the hope
that there would be one more time,
when she was enough.
The was a Time
There was a time when she was enough.
It was brief,
but the light that streamed into the window of her tiny bedroom
was brilliant.
She'd dance with the dust motes, floating in the air,
flinging her arms from side to side
and feel the pain of hope.
Those days were never long but she'd turn the spines of the books
to the back of the shelves.
She refused to read the records of her past that would make short work of any of her dreams.
She lived for those moments, where again,
She was all that she needed to be,
even though,
eventually,
a new page would appear in her hand and slip to the floor.
She'd keen for the loss of the man
who rejected her over and over again.
She hoped for one more moment of being seen,
for the words that seemed to speak her true name,
and the happiness that only worked if she lied.
It wouldn't last,
but if, by sheer force of will,
she could make it happen,
she would.
Again and again she reached out in the hope
that there would be one more time,
when she was enough.
-
6
-
6
-
1
- Show all
