Glass Heart

My mom once told me that when I was three this woman whispered to her, “Your daughter is an old soul, just like that painting on the wall. She’s going to be a healer and bring color to other peoples lives.”
My mom didn’t know what that meant at the time, but perhaps she was spiritual because now I’m twenty-two years old and this random woman that approached my mom couldn’t be more right about me.
I’ve spent years trying to heal other people,
That sometimes I forget to heal myself, take care of myself and appreciate myself as I do others.
I’ve spent years attempting to mend wounded hearts and broken souls in hopes to repair damage from unfortunate events in others’ lives that I couldn’t control.
As much as I wanted to fix it, there was nothing more I could do besides be a good friend.
For once glass breaks, you can try your best to glue the pieces back together but it will always be cracked.
You can’t fix something that is broken but you can try to put the pieces back together and fill the cracks with life lessons and hope that things will get better.
A shattered heart is stronger than one that has never been broken.
If you hold your head high enough and grow from tragedy, then the cracks will fade but they will still be there to remind you that you beat something you once didn’t think you could.
Our hearts are like glass.
We have these beautiful fragile organs that beat from the insides of our chest.
They can become easily fractured, yet they can also make our smiles glisten when things begin to go right.
Pretty wild isn’t it?
How glass can cut you like an axe taking down a helpless tree
but also act as a reflection of all that you’ve overcome.
Remember, our hearts aren’t shatter proof and without all those cracks from tragedy…how would the light seep in when the darkness starts to clear?

 

(Featured image by Sherrybookirk)

Prisoner In My Own Home

In honor of April being Sexual Assault Awareness month, I am sharing with you a very personal poem I wrote about one of my friends. My close friend was sexually abused by his father for almost his entire life. Many do not realize how many boys are sexually assaulted because the focus is primarily on girls. According to 1in6.org, 1 in 6 men have been sexually abused or assaulted.

By the time my friend came forward with what had been going on behind closed doors, it was too late. The pain was too much for him and he took his own life. This poem is in the point of view of him. I am a very empathetic person so I was able to put myself in his shoes while writing this. For some of you, this may be a very tough read.

IF YOU KNOW A VICTIM OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, SPEAK UP.

YOUR VOICE COULD SAVE A LIFE.

Prisoner in my Own Home

Most don’t think that rape,

Can happen to a boy,

Little did they know,

I was my father’s toy.

 

Creak, creak, creak, the floorboards go,

Oh no, he’s coming up the stairs,

I start breathing heavy,

And hope that god can hear my prayers.

 

Shaking in silence,

I’m a mess of sweat and tears,

He slams open the door,

Out of nowhere he appears.

 

The smell of sweet liquor and smoke fill the room,

I can no longer breathe,

My lungs are filled with doom.

 

He throws his first punch,

And I try my best to duck,

But he’s too quick,

And I’m out of luck.

 

As I fly back,

The concrete floor catches my fall,

I think my back is broken,

I begin to bawl.

 

Nowhere to run,

Nowhere to hide,

No way to escape,

No matter how hard I tried.

 

He drags me by my shirt,

And forces me on to the bed,

He rips off my clothes,

As I attempt to fight back,

I wish I were dead.

 

Blood-curdling screams of anguish,

Come from mommy who’s downstairs,

She’s too scared to call the cops,

So she starts throwing chairs.

 

She knows what daddy is doing to me,

For he beats and rapes her too,

But she is beside herself,

And pretends that what daddy is doing isn’t true.

 

Daddy is a monster,

For I see the evil in his eyes,

As he touches me aggressively,

I know he’s the devil in disguise.

 

I swim in a pool of my own tears,

As at peace the neighbors sleep,

Nobody ever hears,

So I continue to weep.

 

My innocence was taken away,

At just the age of three,

A prisoner in my own home,

I wonder what it’s like to be free.

 

13 years later,

And it’s still the same abuse,

For the bruises and cuts,

I always have an excuse.

 

There is so much pain within me,

So I beat myself up more,

By slicing my skin open with knives,

And watching the blood from my wounds pour.

 

I think it’s time I tell a teacher,

So the abuse can be put to rest,

But I’m afraid no one will believe me,

And think I’m just a pest.

 

Eventually I built the courage to rat my daddy out,

And he was put in jail,

I thought I would feel better,

But I still felt so frail.

 

After all I have gone through,

I knew earth wasn’t the place for me,

So I sent myself to heaven,

Where a good life was guaranteed.

My Sweetest Symphony

Often nights I just lay in my bed,

As each of my thoughts becomes a beat,

Until eventually they all link together into an enthralling, soothing rhythm

And that’s when your name makes its way through my mind in the sweetest symphony,

So calm and tranquil,

As if you were whisking me through the breath of life;

The lullaby of the cool rain hushes me to sleep.

And that’s when I can hear your guitar playing from heavens pearly gates,

The rain comes down harder in a torrent,

And I can feel your presence kissing my skin with every drop.