filling buckets with bile and tears

if I had collected my tears 

these 21 years

tears shed by hurt you caused

I could fill a bucket

and that bucket emptied out 

many times over

could fill this room 

and this room filled many times 

could fill an ocean

If I could open my mouth 

Spitting out toxic bile 

poured into me by words you have spoken

It would fill another bucket 

then that bucket emptied out 

overflowing 

would fill every house we ever lived in together

is it any wonder I feel like this now

look around at this 

spend the last breath that I will actually listen to 

telling me that it was my fault

I am finished crying 

finished taking the toxic sludge in

There is nothing about what we had together that I would recognize as love

It was all bile and tears

Response to "Promise Land & the place called Portend"

Now the Lord is not slow about enacting His promise—slow is how some people want to characterize it—no, He is not slow but patient and merciful to you, not wanting anyone to be destroyed, but wanting everyone to turn away from following his own path and to turn toward God’s.   

2 Peter 3:9 (the voice)

It just FEELS slow. 

The Promise Land & The Place Called 'Portend'

What I wanted

Since I was a child

A place named 'promise'

A safe place

Where all needs are met with abundance

No more pushing around

Slander silenced as you enter 

Insults become vapor 

Drowned out by dripping honey, sweet

In longing for this 'promise' land 

Childishly, I created another place

Called 'portend' 

I created a place where the last drop of honey was used 

To glue together the bits 

Left over

Making the best of it 

Never enough

Because I longed for safety and home 

And because I gave it an effort 

Are you saying I deserve less than a promise? 

You said you loved me

You felt me yearning 

Yes, it wasn't for you 

So you let me wander 

let me 'try'

I wanted nothing more than safety 

You left me in the stickiness

To figure it out

Couldn't you have told me it wasn't worth my time? 

Spared pain times pain? 

That is not your way

Well, what is your way? 

You build into us a deep hunger 

An instinct for the plan we have lost 

But then you let our instincts evolve to cope

And you call that coping sin nature

Or is that what I call it?  

I might have deep intuition 

But I am deeply at a loss

Show me the promised land 

I have walked out of portend

Into the strong tide of desert dune

The sandy pull of a heart broken 

Please do not leave me here

I know all about myself now, I know. You've told me so often. You haven't left me one rag of illusion to clothe myself in.
― Jean Rhys

I use water to pretend

I pretend I am floating outside of it
without the gravity of this place
like a heavy metal weight
with a brand scratched into the surface
that says "enter here and have it lifted"

I pretend to have unlimited buoyancy
I pretend to have an upward force inside
although the 'upward force' usually seems real
I call on it and it brings me to the surface
quickly, once I speak it out

I use water to pretend
that I am inside a pocket of breathable air
leaving the rest of the world immersed
floating like noah, I suppose
Although I would never let you drown

long baths, the ocean
using water to suspend my body
outside / inside
where everything else is displaced
I am in the in-between
emptied out

I shout thinking the sound will be contained
but it carries
I let my voice seemingly crash
only to have sound waves surface and bend
being amplified

those sounds expose me
as I try to swallow them
like cheeks blown up
and then slapped 

Moved

moved

even if the catapulted scene splatters me to the wall

even if it summoned me only to baptize me in ashes

I still was moved 

and I would rather be moved 

than stay

moved 

like mass which once starts in motion, can not be stopped

like a brushfire pushes everything living out 

I moved 

because I would rather see the resin melt, releasing seed

than to remain dormant

moved 

and alone 

in dead silence, white washed no more

moved 

and undone 

turning every tiny pebble to see what still lays in dust  

moved

and baring all 

so that love can enter those rooms, never viewed

I was moved, no regret