PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I woke up tired

but tired was still survivable.

The kind that sits behind my eyes

begs the clock for five more minutes.

I didn't know before the day was over

I'd learn there are heavier things than exhaustion.

you started my day as the man I love

the voice that can still pull a smile out of me

 

before the sun could even disappear

you became the thunder.

January

One fucking word

that should have made me happy

January

Closer. Sooner.

Less squares on a calendar

between your hands and mine.

 

I should have been celebrating.

Instead I stood there wondering

how something I've been counting

day after fucking day

could change—

and I wasn't important enough to know

"I forgot."

Maybe those words

were small to you

But they were lightning to me.

 

while you forgot,

I remembered.

I remembered February.

I counted it.

I carried it.

I built little pieces of hope around a date

loving someone on deployment

sometimes means surviving by numbers.

164, 163,162...

Each number whispering

He's coming home

Just keep going

You're one day closer

 

And somewhere along the way

the finish line moved up—

and somehow I was still standing at the old one..

I wasn't angry of you coming home sooner.

 

God, don't you understand?

I wanted to be happy with you!

I wanted the message

Baby, guess what?

I wanted my heart to explode

for the right fucking reasons.

Instead I found out accidentally,

Expressing my hurt, I needed you to hear me.

Not fix it.

Not defend it.

Not to tell me everything you've been carrying.

Just hear me say,

Daddy, this hurt me.

suddenly my pain was exaggeration.

My hurt became an accidental mistake.

And my children became ammunition

That one landed differently.

 

you can be angry with me.

tell me when I've handled something wrong.

You can tell me when I've crossed a line.

sometimes I need you to.

 

But don't reach inside

the most vulnerable pieces of my life

just because you're angry

and need somewhere to throw the knife.

 

submission never meant silence.

Being your good girl

never meant swallowing every hurt

until my stomach fills with everything

I was too afraid to say.

 

maybe that's what I need you to understand most

even good girls get angry.

devoted hearts scream.

submissive women have boundaries.

Even the girl who whispers "Yes, Daddy"

can have tears running down her face

while something inside her is screaming

 

PLEASE JUST FUCKING HEAR ME.

 

Tonight everything feels black and red

 

numbness

anger

Outside my head

there may be ordinary weather,

but inside— it's raining.

Thunder shakes every thought

Lightning keeps finding me

again,

and again,

each strike carrying another question:

Do I matter?

Am I a priority?

Would you have remembered

if it mattered enough?

 

those questions hurt

more than January ever could.

 

I know you have responsibilities

I know you have children

I know deployment takes pieces out of you

I know life gets heavy.

 

I don't want to feel

like something you remember after everything else.

I want to matter

somewhere near the front of your mind.

Not because I'm demanding every piece of you

I've given you so many pieces of me.

 

Tonight

I want to crawl into a hole

deep enough that the lightening and thunder can't reach

 

I want silence

I want darkness

I want five fucking minutes

where nothing hurts.

 

I'm exhausted from explaining why I'm hurting

while I'm already hurting

 

I'm angry.

I'm wounded.

I'm irritated.

I'm emotional.

 

And beneath all of it,

I'm numb.

 

But somewhere underneath the black,

beneath the red,

beneath every lightning strike

that convinced me I couldn't take another hit,

 

this stubborn little heartbeat

Still hoping

Still loving

Still waiting for your return. 

Still wanting the man

who caused today's storm

to be the same man I want beside me

And maybe that's the cruelest part

of loving someone this deeply

 

sometimes the person

you want to run to

is the person you're hurting from.

 

I won't pretend I'm okay.

I won't paint my anger pretty.

I won't call pain obedience.

I won't disappear

just because being heard became difficult.

 

I'll stand here in the rain,

black sky above me,

red lightning tearing through it

bruised by words

but still breathing

Still angry.

Still hurt.

Still hoping.

 

maybe tomorrow

the thunder won't sound

quite so much like the end.