Tired and Broken

So many years ago, eyes were stinging red and lids were swollen heavy.  I imagined shattered glass, a desert of sharp dark gray, reflecting and alluring.  Storms, lightning, gails, rolling thunder, empty desire, pain, suffocating, dripping bright red blood, splashing, bright red shattered glass reflecting…somehow, 10 years later, I’m still there.

Sure, this time is different and yet so much the same.  Maybe more comfort and maybe more pain.  I am so tired and so broken like a windshield beaten by a bat with a swift, hard swing to drive the point home, CRACK! All the shattered pieces, bluish-gray in the rain, held together somehow in that pane.  Broken and yet not quite scattered.  But I’m done, finished, tired, ready to hang the towel, worn and tattered.

Where is my Savior?  My knight?  My brilliant light?  I seem to be left to demons, content beating me.  Will no one fight for me? Not even my man?  My strength seems gone, what is the point to all of that holding on?  Hold on to what?  Those dreams?  What for?

My children, “Mommy, mommy, mommy,” they cling and claw.  Whining and sobbing, Curious George is not on.  He eyes me, he wants me, he loves me…yes, I see that, he loves me, but he doesn’t understand.  He refuses to know what it is to help your woman glow.  I’m so worn and tired, comfort is not what I need.  This is not who I am supposed to be.

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