Dear Pain,
It’s like I met you before my parents, a desire you had long before my birthday became a number that I carried. Fired on the logos, for the pathological ways you designed. You knew how much your burden was something I never desired. I always inquired that I’ve been through much, yet never making excuses constantly picking you up. You’re like simple math, I add you take a way, then you multiply in the face of pain, you never subtract unless it’s from me. Betrayal came at a price from you to me. Your elastic agile function comes with a functional structure, categorized horizontally on a multifunctional structure. The surface where I met you felt like a pit, caved in my own carbonation, but blistered instead of bubbled from laying in your shit. Your fire was a blaze that burned long before these pages. So today, I want to write to you from my heart. It’s just me and you, no kids, no lovers, no distractions from your covers. I need the truth. Why did you choose me before I ever knew you? Was it my past life? I’m just trying to figure out, I know you can’t have pain without purpose, so I scribbled you out. Let’s write this out loud. You scream when I touch a place that you try to pretend to hide. Did I leave you with no protection? Did I forget the goddess in me was a woman breeding as my own intellectual? My desires for growth leave you clinging more. I let you walk away with no words, yet you remind me of the pain, that hurts more. Was it my childhood trauma? Or is it the fact that the only woman I had to honor was my mama? I’m asking. I’m saying dear pain what are we gaining? We keep getting back together just for you to do the same thing. You keep treating me like my lover, you come wrapped as a gift, if death and life lie in the power, why does it seem like I’m befitting the thrills? And you keep spinning the wheel. You come in, leave me abandoned and broken, you tell me you love me but only when I’m healing. You make no sense to my antelabium, speaking once without a seance is like chanting at low volumes. You come without being summoned, you hurt without being wanted, you harbor the pain from my insides to break me more for your laughs and my cries. Making me feel less of a woman. You’re cruel and insular, unusual in your way of thinking and always playing with the ventricles of the heartbreaks being encrypted. I delete you and you find ways to come back, I heal and my mind changes only for you to attack. Dear pain, you ache and I don’t think you know. You can only show up in the ways in which you’ll know that I’ll grow. Eventually you know I’ll have to let you go. Not divorcing my lover, but divorcing my somber, the tears versus the joys when I can embrace my summer. It is the pressure that comes with a life being reborn. If I wasn’t given over to pain for the process of being won, how would I know that the games you play are because of how I get things done? We role play the same! You’re Dick and I’m Jane, we just “Go, Go, Go,” and you come “In and Out”, as if you have no place to go and I haven’t figured this out. “I See You.” Dear pain, I don’t do refunds or exchanges, this is your final notice, it’s time for us to become strangers.
Sincerely,
The daughter you raised!
P.S.
Sorry if this brought you pain.
About the Creator
Charelle Landers
Published author, (A Serious of Unfortunate Events, pen name Jessica Wright) and mother to six wonderful children. I find that writing is a healing passion of purpose and the ultimate pursuit to happiness.
Keep reading
More stories from Charelle Landers and writers in Poets and other communities.
Dear Love
(Revised) Dear Love, I have let you become undefined. My reasonable existence comes with my immediate expectations. I look to the unveiling of my vision to see beyond my own sight. My imagination has become bruised, my heart palpitations has become a rhythm I can’t dance to. The questionable sense of life comes in the fallacy of a lovers drought. The discomfort has become a fraught, the bitter agony awaiting a call for an awakening. My lover has become my journal. I empty my vessel hoping to return to the comfort of my suite. Yet, my lovers duty is called in the secret places we meet, the dungeon. I play the dragon slayer hoping that I’m rescued from Repunzel’s revenge. I seek to ascend, the conclusive truth, collided with the lies of my foreshadowing pain. Dear love what’s your name? We have become strangers passing by, the breeze of love has become cold, I’m awaiting beneath the surface, yet, still drowning in what’s worthy. The tales follow the trails of untraditional cycles, yet the deserting of my soul comes from the withered agility. A minds proclivity, the mindless civility, living for the mysteries. Already there is love, from birth to death, from death to life the depth of love as a sacrifice. Love shavings shedding, as I sharpen myself, leaving no room for leverage but taking a leap over the ledge. Beheaded at the sorcerers stone, the rod that strikes, the magic within, is the power of the bitter light. Entrusted as love is euthanized, empowered, from the enamored of my enamel of my lovers bite. Embroidered with the mark of the pain that lasts forever. Carried inside the asylum of my own insanity, killing my ego and dying, yet love finds me in my divine timing, defying definitions as deflatable. Debating again with I love you, it becomes a tune that’s atoned with fuck you. I’m stuck here thinking bodily energy is the same symmetry that ignited the powers of love. Left in the middle of moments I’ve lived through but never had the reasons to enjoy. I dream of a white dress, a house, a farm, a picket fence and a man who’s strong in his arms capable to uplift. Yet love has been a repeat of codependency an accolade of repetitious desires of unlearned lessons. The discretion of self hatred no woman dares to speak, the feeling is unworthy of the uncertainty of what lovers teach. Dear love, can we meet?
By Charelle Landers4 months ago in Poets
Comments