Card Games / Street Signs / The Grave
Card Games
“If you play your cards right.”
He said teasingly.
But I am not here to play card games.
You cannot shuffle my deck.
“I laid my cards out on the table, so feel free to take them.”
But that’s not how I respond.
Instead I keep my poker face.
Pretending to enjoy your little game.
Street Signs
Isn’t it ironic that he lives on a one-way street?
I didn’t read the traffic sign until I got to the other side.
Laughing to myself, it was the perfect cosmic joke.
I saw the sign too late but all the clearer.
He loved like a one-way street.
After all, narcissists always do.
I chose to drive away against the traffic.
Away from him and his self-love, I drove towards myself.
Seeing the sign now I feel closer to myself than I’ve ever been.
The Grave
The grave she dug as a girl.
Now becoming unearthed.
Metal clangs. Shovel pierces the cold dirt.
Callouses beginning to grow on raw hands.
Biceps aching and sweat dripping.
Mind determined.
This grave.
The one she dug as a girl.
Is about to be unearthed…
Why did she dig a grave in the first place you ask?
After the trauma, something had to be buried.
A grave for her or a grave for IT.
So she dug IT a grave.
With no help at all.
No one to tell.
Who would believe her anyways?
Wiping her hands clean, dirt on her jeans.
She walks away and doesn’t look back.
But IT has an odd way of following her.
IT follows her when she walks alone at night.
Bushes rustling. Shadows jumping. Street lights flickering. Out.
Her heart racing. Mouth dry. Keys clenched tight in her fist.
Overwhelming fear.
Wishing she buried herself instead.
This is what IT wants.
Time passes.
She is ready to tell her friends about IT.
Most of them are on her side.
They tell her to leave the grave alone, “it wasn’t your fault.”
IT wasn’t her fault.
But still the grave she dug as a girl is there.
Rotting. Haunting. Waiting.
She knows she has to face IT.
Why did she dig a grave in the first place you ask?
She returns to the grave.
Shovel in hand.
Digging IT up.
Tears and sweat on her face.
The air sticking to her skin, thick and heavy as she tries to breathe.
Flashes coming back. Fear. Shame. Hate. IT. IT. IT.
She wants to jump into the grave.
But this grave is not for her.
IT never was.
She looks in now, surprised
This grave looks sweet and tender
A young version of herself, innocent, bruised.
IT took a piece of her and she left it here.
She looks at it.
Shows it how strong, beautiful, trusting, kind and full of life she is now.
She forgives it.
Recognises it as a part of her.
She welcomes herself back with open arms.
Then, finally
She feels free.
