the thump of your heart
beating in my ear
what a fool was i
all those years i could not hear
i could stand in your arms
and listen forever
never let go

what a fool was i
that i would never cry
just run and run
always looking for a high
i tried to wash my sorrow in a lie
and left my heart hung to dry

i traded that most beautiful sound
for the empty wasteland
of accumulating plastic toys
and being courted by idiotic boys
foolish foolish girl

a decade wiser
i’d give anything
to have that heart be mine again

Another year wiser and I remember why I ran in the first place and the factors that drove me to seek solace in looking for an endless high. It’s just me and God now, which is really all it ever was or could be.

This poem must be almost a year old now. Icks moved out August 18th and I quite clearly remember the hug described as having been the next day. It was only a hug and, I want to think, only given with the intent of offering a tiny bit of comfort to balm my raw wounds.

That’s right, it’s been nearly a full year since my ex-husband packed and left. He was in such a hurry to drop me. Apparently he had no use for sober m and no desire to provide any real support. Clearly I’m better off without a “partner” like that.

I’m still (and maybe always will be) a bit fragile about the owner of the heart beat. And it most certainly is not true that I’d give anything for that heart to be mine. There are parts of me that can only be given to God. He once called himself god. I suppose that explains entirely too much and no more need be said. Of course even a young, foolish m knew enough to run like hell and keep her walls up and wits about her.


About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. My most recent completed endeavor was finishing BA's in Religious Studies and American Studies. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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