The Blood & The Bones

I wrote everything I could about the way it felt

To move forward or dig my heels in

To survive with or without motion

To love when I was terrified

To be what I needed to when it was not who I was

To make courage into words and stone out of mud

I wrote it with trembling hands. Evicting the error, of my history from my guts. Sliced lengthwise down bulging veins. No turning back, no chance of mending. Purging the enemy to endure another day or week or month. Blood letting for the sole purpose of continuing on.

Someone will find the pages, the books, the scraps of paper someday

I know they will

And they will see my mind in ways those who could not feel the weight, who could not see the sadness the longing, the walls, the wounds, the lust, the violence, the run. They will read these offerings and finally someone will know what courage it took to see it through. To walk all the way to the end.

I’ll be long gone by then. Ashes on a mountain wind. A layer on the river bed. Blood on lined pages. A fight that was not in a vain. A story that will not end.

tb&tb