Grief is a process that comes in stages. There’s no one way to grieve. Be kind to yourself. Allow yourself to feel what you feel in the moment. If you feel like crying, cry. Know that it’s ok to be sad, but you can’t stay there forever.
FLOOD
It comes in waves.
Tossing, turning, thrashing.
It comes, like a rush,
troubling, trembling, trampling.
It comes in highs,
deceiving, dismantling, destroying.
It comes in lows
creeping, crawling, contorting
It comes like a flood
drowning, suffocating, collapsing.
It comes like a thief.
To kill, to steal, to destroy.
It comes like a stench,
lingering.
It comes,
never receding.
IMPARTIAL
It doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if you’re black or white. It doesn’t prefer the old to the young. It doesn’t matter if you’re poor or rich. It does not have a preference for pure stones and silver spoons to hand-me-downs and leftovers. It does not have an affinity for 5 star accommodations over a humble abode. It disregards your wants, plans, and desires. It goes after everything and everyone. It makes no exceptions, not even if you beg and plead. It tackles the affluent and does not spare the outcast. It exudes equality, but hardly feels like liberty.
UNEXPECTED
It creeps into the rising corner of a smile.
It sneaks into the laughter that fills the room.
It peeks through bright-eyes early in the morning.
It is omnipresent and isolating.
It is desolate, depleting.
It is abrupt.
It oozes from my bones.
It keeps the visions playing in the midnight hour.
It holds me hostage.
It takes control despite not being the pilot.
It captures me when I don’t want to be found.
It devours.
It is more than I bargained for.
EMPTY
Once,
so stable.
Life’s parasitic
truths
remind me
of how
fragile
I am.
Once satisfied,
life
dehydrates me
of pure
contentment.
Once
joyful.
Life’s unrequited
guarantees
deprive me
of the security
of
my
own
breath.
Once
seeming invincible,
life’s tribulations
revealed
my innate
inadequacies.
And now,
deprived.
Life’s
scornful hand
leaves
me
EMPTY.
SEARCHING
I replay your words,
clumsily placing the needle on your distressed record.
I scavenge for a remedy,
stumbling upon temporary fixes to mask my pain.
The smooth curves of your face become blurry.
I long for your embrace,
disgruntled that your touch is fleeting my mind.
I examine my shoulders,
perplexed by the weight they still withstand.
I notice my feet,
astonished by their own memory.
I sense my lungs,
bombarded that they work upon collapsing.
I feel my heart beating,
dismayed that I have no desire to go on.
I reach toward the open,
disappointed that a libation nor coated capsule won’t heal.
There’s no bandage for a wound of the soul.
RESTORATION
In the lowest of the valley,
You are
there.
I can’t always feel
You.
I feel lost,
distorted
without your
assurance.
Bring me peace,
Please.
God,
grant me
safety
that only comes
in
You
restore
my broken
heart.
Restore.
Me.
Put me back,
not quite
the way
that I was.
Better.
Somehow
my broken
pieces
find a way.
I let go
to
begin
again.
