NaPoWriMo #16


I’ve written a book of poems
no one can read right now
without crying or feeling
like their heart will raise itself
up out of their chest, and walk
away willingly.

it helped me–to flesh out those
poems–to lend them to the air
around me, and grieve . . .
truly grieve as each day passes.

it’s in phases.
sad to acceptance to mourning
to celebrating the life she
lived and being grateful to
share the same blood with a
human being so God-damned

I know the agony my family
feels as they struggle through
each poem.
I know the pain that creeps in,
sits at attention, and waits
to be acknowledged.

I know all of this because I
wrote the words that causes
the pain that helps me heal.