Hurt

I knew this would happen.

I’d hoped that by some fluke miracle, it wouldn’t.

I’d wished that life would fast forward to the good parts, and skim over the bad parts.

But life is not a film, with a remote control.

No, as my mother says, you can’t take the good in life without the bad.

The tragedy is as necessary as the triumphs.

What a load of bullshit.

I hate those words, they seem hollow.

Like, this facade of a life I’m living.

I knew this would happen.

I just never knew, it would hurt this badly.

I’m trying to pick up the pieces of myself.

Bloodied across the floor.

And I cut my fingers on the shards of broken hope that I am struggling to piece back together.

I know that I must get it together,

I must. I will. Come hell or high water, I will.

But it hurts.

Each day I keep busy. Mothering. Working. Lifting.

But in stolen moments alone I allow myself to feel.

Spilled tears in car parks and sad fury in poems during late sleepless nights.

Even as I feel, I am impatient, and I want to fast forward to feeling comfort somewhere safe.

I know this time, I need to make myself safe.

Broken as I am, I will. There is no choice.

But, it just hurts.





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