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The wail of my bleeding heart

By Theresa Alikor

Am I happy? I mean yes, or no
Honestly I don't know anymore…
They say a little make up makes everything better
Everyday I'm pouring foundation and concealer on a bleeding wound hoping to hide all the scars or would be scars
But really it's a question of if I would heal from them, it's scary
The thought of
If they'll ever get the chance to become scars in the first place
I'm angry, maybe even jealous
I know no one's life is perfect but at least there's some form of predictability or structure or stable chaos,
But mine….?
Mine is tough, shitty, always has been
But these days it seems as if the dams holding back the water in my eyes keep crumbling and my fragile, well I guess not so fragile heart keeps breaking.
It's a rollercoaster except a rollercoaster is round,
It has a definite shape doesn't it?
But this one doesn't.
As the years go by I keep on finding a single corner in this shape I can hide in
And every time it's an illusion it's not really there is it ?
It's not a circle either but I keep finding myself at the same spot where I first started.
With every illusionary corner there's a new shadow,
A clear reflection of me, my past, present and a haunting darkness, deep,
Like a silent reminder that this might not come
Healing I mean
That maybe it doesn't exist
But in the end whether there's light at the end of not,
I want to be like David, King David,
I want to cry and wail to my God.
Show him how the world has been perforating the heart that he has most graciously given to me,
With Anger, with hurt, endless cycles, dependent addictions,
Just for a little taste of dopamine maybe even joy if that wasn't farfetched.
Then have hope somewhere in all of that,
That somehow he's going to save me.
When I have no corner to hide in,
I'd hide under his wings you see,
Steady arms holding me.
And that maybe just maybe,
As doctor strange said "a 1 in 14 million" chance that the bleeding heart could heal and that the scars could fade,
And that memories wouldn't hurt.
Maybe just maybe he'd hear me and save me.

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About the Poet

I'm T-Storm a poet and a spoken word artist with a burning passion for telling stories using captivating visuals and well crafted words.

📍 Rivers state, Nigeria
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