I think we all come in to this world
Believing we will be welcomed
With open arms and love
Like an unspoken promise,
A pinky swear
We come here, expecting to be loved and cared for. Sometimes that doesn't happen.
I will never know a mothers love towards me. Never felt it. Never will. There are no replacements or stand ins...it just wasn't meant to be. There will always be grief, a sense of loss, of injustice, but it is true. I can't change it. Just accept it. It's ok.
The heart speaks of wanting to be physically close to others. Yet the price is too high or misunderstood. People that like touch are often ridiculed. I just want someone close, near, warm, tell me that I am really here, that I am not ostracized and alone.
I live within a very tight, small sense of the world. I don't take up much space. I have like a 12 inch perimeter in which I experience 90% of the world. It's hard for me to reach out past this space. Don't ask me to raise my hand or gesture, much less...spread my arms open wide. I only experience the outside world within this quite short distance.
The heart wishes for quiet comfort. For people that do not want to take. For someone that can be near, to feel not alone, yet not imposed upon.
The heart is afraid to speak its dreams and longings because they seem to be so simple, almost childish. Acceptance. Someone to sit alone in the dark without the tangle of words or the scent of sex.
Naive, innocent, not taking, not bearing.
The heart has been horribly hurt, but is learning how to warily heal.
The words nice and kind are bigger then you know. A genuine smile is more than money.
Should we tell them how much we can read in their eyes? Their words, tones and subtle gestures? Shall we tell them we can sense their disinterest, distraction and apathy? Everyone so wrapped up in themselves, in old, worn out, tightly embedded ideas. Should we tell them all that we see in them?
Dare we mention...the very littlelittle things that can make us happy beyond belief?
Simpletons in a world that thrives on the drama of complications and social mainstreaming.
The heart wants to sit quietly....and tell its secrets..reveal the wounds of who cut who there, with what and where. The wounds are not pretty. And the telling is likely to hurt everyone in the conversation.
The heart needs to know....that it's okay to talk now. That it's okay to feel now. That it's okay to let go now. I start talking but it rains a lot. So much has been kept held...imprisoned. I'm gonna get me a key. I'm gonna write and I'm gonna talk. And I'm not a sure exactly where or how this will go. But I move forward. I have a feeling that there is a lot to be said.