Surrendering To Grief. {poetry}
Today I am a failure.
I’m failing at being a wife.
I’m failing at being a mother,
I’m failing at being a friend and a lover.
I’m failing at saying what I want.
I’m failing at asking for what I need.
I’m failing at grieving.
I’m failing at mourning.
I crumple onto
the shower floor
and let the steaming hot water
pour over my body,
wash away my tears
until hot
becomes warm,
becomes cold.
I cower there
with tangled wet hair,
and let the icy cold water
pour over my body,
wash away my tears
until I’m shivering.
From the cold,
the grief,
the fear.
I shiver and rage.
And yet the tears still come
in waves and violent fits,
as I beat my hands on my chest
and beg for the pain to end,
as I beat my head on the tiled wall,
and beg for the pain to end.
I shiver and rage.
I hear cracks and breaks,
as if glass has shattered
all around me.
When I look around
through the haze of salty tears
I expect to see blood.
Crimson, metallic, and murky,
yet all I see is clear water
flowing down the drain.
And still,
cracks and breaks
and great shattering crashes
echo all around me,
echo within and through me.
I shiver and rage.
My heart,
my soul,
my spirit,
have erupted
into tortured chaos.
I’ve tried so hard
to keep going,
to just make it one more day,
one more hour,
one more breath.
To live.
To survive.
To thrive.
Then, I surrender.
Today I do not fail.
I allow the grief
to overtake me.
To swallow me whole.
To rip out my heart
and have its way with me.
I succumb to its power.
Today I remove
my queen’s crown.
I remove my goddess wings
and superhero cape,
my knight’s suit of armor,
my f*ck-me heels,
and my warrior paint.
I lay down my sword,
throw my shield
to the side.
The protective walls
come crumbling down
into piles of ash and dust
as grief comes
barreling toward me.
I lie down naked and spent,
arms spread wide,
stripped down to
my very core,
ravaged by the inner beast
of loss of pain,
of grief.
I cry for what was
and for what will never be.
I howl at the moon
as it hides behind
gray and ominous clouds.
I feel the cold wet drops
of pain,
of grief,
of loss.
They sear holes
as they burn
through my flesh.
I shiver and rage.
Today I surrender to grief.
***
Melissa Dodson is a California girl who found her home in the trees of Portland, OR. She’s a wife and mom, a writer and a Death Midwife. She writes about being a motherless daughter, grief, depression, vulnerability, and the beauty of a messy life. She is a dream-catcher, a grief-warrior, a survivor, a book-whore. Her work has been featured on Rebelle Society, The Tattooed Buddha, The Manifest-Station, behind-the-ink, and Some Talk of You & Me. You can follow her blog, or find her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
***
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