The scar tissue around my heart is thick and scaly,
Like a scab itching to be picked at.
But I know that if I keep scratching it,
Lifting up the corners,
To see if it’s healed yet,
I might cause it to start bleeding again.
So I leave it for now,
Until the anxiety takes hold of me again,
And I carefully slide my fingernail under the edge,
To take a little peek,
Just to see how much healing has been done.
A lifetime of illusions haunts my dreams,
Last night he came to me with apologies and gifts,
But I didn’t want them anymore.
I haven’t for a very long time.
It’s time for my healing now.
It’s time for something new.
He collapsed into my arms in my dream.
And I was irritated with his melodramatic reaction,
Until I realized that he had died of a broken heart.
But he was the one who caused it.
As I struggled to hold his weight in my arms,
Demons were pounding at the locked door,
Trying to make their way in,
But I wouldn’t let them win.
I was stronger than them.
My conviction more powerful.
Even though I felt fear course through my veins,
I knew that I could use that heartbreak and fear,
And turn it into something more.
I want to use that scar tissue around my heart,
As the armor my soul needs to keep moving forward.
Those bruises that keep happening over and over again?
They are my battle wounds that show
I am stronger than the power of their flowery words.
The words they stopped using
As quickly and as easily as they
Stopped professing their love for me.
It seems that the bruises happen easier now,
Because my cells remember.
Even though I am trying to help them let go
Of all the pain
From him and him and him and him and him.
I have no desire to hold onto any of them,
Or any of the pain they left in the wake of their egos.
Oh, those powerful egos…
Caused by trauma unhealed,
Inner children uncared for,
Soul work left undone.
And yes, I see some of the same in the mirror.
But the difference is,
I want to do the work, whereas they saw no work to be done.
I want to heal, whereas they magnanimously wanted to help others to heal
And ignored that same need within themselves.
I don’t want to pick the scab anymore,
Because I don’t want to cause anyone else the same pain
That they so blithely left me with
And went on their way,
Unaware of the damage that their hurting hearts inflicted upon mine.
I don’t want my scar tissue to protect me,
To guard my heart.
I want to use it to make my heart stronger.
To strengthen the most beautiful part of my body and soul,
And make her even more loving,
Even more giving.
I don’t want to use the bruises as a reason to give up on love.
Or on life.
Even when life seems so tragic…
I want to keep my heart open,
No matter how much it gets hurt.
I want to turn my scar tissue and bruises into renewed faith,
Even as it feels like that faith is slipping.
Even if that faith is only in the gorgeous soul of one human.
Even if that faith is only that the sun will rise again tomorrow.
Even if that faith is only in the eyes of my children.
My scar tissue and bruises are the unseen battle wounds that I carry,
Like the bullet holes of a soldier
Much braver than I could ever be.
But I carry them with honor,
Knowing I did the best I could,
Proud of the soft heart that I offer.
The warm heart that I refuse to close off.
A heart committed to loving harder,
And peacing harder,
In a daily practice
Of faith renewed.
My heart — and all her gorgeous, bleeding wounds — deserves nothing less.
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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