Things I'd Never Say, Allowed

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Repentance

I stopped believing in romance a long time ago

But if a tent revival rolled into town today

I’d be the first to raise my hands in hallelujah 

and shout Amen

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Cocoon

For the longest time,

I thought there’d be some sort of transformation.

A moment that changed everything for the better forever.

Like in the fairytales. 

A kindly godmother sweeping in to magic me graceful

A prince galloping in to declare me beautiful (who cares about his love?)

Or maybe I’d sing into a seashell and gain a pair of shapely legs (even if it means losing my voice)

How many salon chairs have I mistaken for makeshift cocoons

Which would birth me into the world

radiant

magnificent, 

bright

beautiful

But it’s always the same old self who seems to emerge. 

So, now, I’m beginning to wonder whether

Instead of the metamorphosis for which I’ve always hoped, 

I was always simply called to brave the intimacy of staring into my own eyes for long enough to see that

A thousand tiny transformations are constantly taking place 

Shaping me into the me I’m so afraid to be

[thingsidneversayallowed-blog]

Vow

I take you, my body with all your flaws, every sharp angle and each soft curve, your etched lines and dimples

To be my beloved fleshly home

From this day forward

For better or for worse 

For richer or poorer

In sickness and in health

In fitness and in failing

In passion and in piety

To love and to cherish

To feed and to clothe

To treat gently and with the utmost respect

Until death do us part

[thingsidneversayallowed-blog]

Bonfire

Who do you want to be when you grow up, they used to ask

And now I know

I want to be the kind of person who - when you’re feeling alone at a party and want to run for the door - looks like a crackling bonfire, a place to take refuge, a welcome warmth, a gatherer of stories.

[thingsidneversayallowed-blog]

Return to sender

There are some disappointments you never return from

Like the contents of a four-year-old letter to a lover – for some reason - left unsent

The naïve optimism of infatuation,

The brazen assurance of things hoped for,

An unwavering conviction of things not seen.

  Finding it tucked away among the scribblings of a dog-eared journal,

Many moons and journeys down the line.

Still walking alongside one another

Limping for having poked each other’s hip sockets one too many times

Realising that – despite our very best efforts – we’ve never learned to love each other well.