The stress pounded my heart as it ached at your departure. It was an unconscious refuge that I didn’t imagine could be pierced through my soul when I looked into the mirror.
I bled profusely, fiddled with the emotions that ran through like a summer rain washing away the pavements of nowhere.
Let it be known that I tried, held on strings of life without a parachute to save or heal the crashing waves. I own my grief and the responsibility of yearning to be healed and taking the blame for what I did to put myself in certain conditions.
Healing is a double-edged sword at times, but one has to muster tepid trepidation that comes along this journey of learned behavior and fully digest the regurgitation of bullshit that I once consumed delightfully, but not knowing that I was consuming self-inflicted pain and agony.
It was a rich, sonorous and lamentable journey that placed the trinket in the quiet room. I created routines for a new beginning of success; the seahorse stood firmly in celebration of saying goodbye.
Alleviated by all the stressors, the heartlessness, and elusiveness of the drained epiphany of mirrored sadness.
You took my freedom and assimilated my thoughts into the asylum prison, thinking I wouldn’t be released on good behavior. I enjoyed my time in the halls of lunacy because it allowed me to sharpen my tools and talents while serving time, which you imposed on me.
Some are credited with insuperable forgiveness, but I’ve bestowed with that honor after gracing your presence of playing bait and switch. I became the exponent for healing, thanks for the hell that I was exposed to for decades.
Disheveled for many but starring sultriest for others that understood my presence. Many coveted this presence and worked tenaciously to grab the opportunity to seize it.
As to you, it was a good game of chess. The level of rancor left me with such an omnipotent ability to exercise at my will. The exciting thing was that I was always limpid and transparent, but you had hidden motives with chastising despondent tactics that I enjoyed playing. It was once upon my time, but I never believed in fairy tales or folklore, but I exulted the intellectual muscle tackle a mass conspirator. You had slick verses that matched your initials.
By the time they released me, you were being processed, they were enough copious charges that granted you a life sentence.
I know that you can handle years in the halls of lunacy, but the only thing I can say to you is that game has changed, and there’s a difference to the game you once knew.
Thanks, to you, for my liberation and my assiduous tenacity and drive. There’s not enough indemnity for hard labor, the pain I endured, but I am indeed a persistent and brave woman.
It was a brutal season, but I can enjoy this season of rejoicing and celebrating in which I never knew existed because I was always on survival mode. And I am finally living for the first time.
Copyright © 2021 by Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.
Healing Majestically 