I’m tired of my heart hurting.
Tired of picking the pieces up off the floor over and over again,
Finding that they never fit back together quite the same way.
The edges are jagged and sharp,
No more smooth, soft sides.
Some of the tiniest shards are missing now,
Lost forever.
So when I do try and put the pieces back together again,
There are gaping holes where love used to be.
Where trust used to live.
Where faith and belief and hope used to reside.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
The pink, luscious plumpness that used to beat with love,
Is now a dark, bruised purple from the beating that it’s taken.
The pumping of life-giving blood is a little slower until triggered again,
And then it instantly goes from shy and hesitant to fast and anxious,
Jumping right into fight-or-flight mode.
Waiting for the inevitable.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
Not wanting to stay open anymore.
Not wanting to take another chance.
Not wanting to share itself.
Just wanting to be done.
Just wanting to run and hide.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
The words are the hardest part.
The nicknames that make it feel seen and heard and loved.
The proclamations that are made in earnest, but much too soon, make it wary now.
When once they made it swoon.
I’m tired of questioning new words because those last ones were spoken so readily, but not with authenticity.
Of questioning a new heart because the last one broke mine so easily.
Of not trusting someone’s intentions because the last one was not at all who he appeared to be and found my heart easy to manipulate.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
The ache gets deeper every time.
Even when the sharp pain fades, the ache remains.
But I feel it in the furthest recesses of my soul now.
Always there…sometimes dulled, but never gone.
An ache that reminds me of
That one’s infidelity…
That one’s panic attack and ghosting…
That one’s battle between his head and heart…
That one’s over-the-top words and immediate running…
That one’s mind games…
That one’s soul-deep pain that couldn’t allow me in no matter how much he wanted to.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
It appears that no one else can hold my heart like I can.
I can hold it with as much love and gentleness as I held theirs.
I can hold it in both hands and protect it like I protected theirs. Or tried to, before my humanness got in the way this time.
I can hold it with deep respect and admiration, like I offered them before the pain came.
I can hold it with reverence for its resilience.
I can hold it in awe of its beauty and steadfastness and loyalty.
I can hold it while I admire that it’s actually still beating.
I’m tired of my heart hurting.
It’s time to hold my own heart with the love and respect and awe it deserves.
It’s time for me to do that for myself.
For that part of me that is the most gorgeous.
The most loving.
The most giving.
The most healing.
The most caring.
My irresistible, magical, witchy heart.
Good Goddess, she deserves that.
Because I’m tired of my heart hurting.