With Tired Eyes
Came across these words today...
With tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
Oh, If I could possibly make anyone understand -- how these words -- are my words -- how these words -- ring true to my core.
There are secrets that I keep, memories that haunt me and they make me old. That living room I stood in, four years old, and that man who should have protected me and, instead, chose to do the exact opposite. My brother reading to me, chair jammed up against the doorknob, his stories attempting to muffle the sounds of screaming and cyring and dishes breaking. A young friend coming to me for help when a man I told her she could trust abused that trust and being too young to know what to do, I did nothing. Torturing that shy girl in grade 4, making her cry, feeling nothing. Breaking his heart...and then his heart and then his heart. Now, it is my heart. Broken. And I am four again except this time I am turning 30 and I am so tired. Tired of feeling like I did the very first time I remember being left by my mother with a new and strange babysitter. Alone. Terrified. Clutching the front door, tiny face pressed to the screen, pleading for her to come come back. I was left. I am left.
And so I sleep. It drags me under like a drug and inside of it I am safe. During the day I do the things I know I must do. I get up, I pee, I gargle, apply some mascara, eat an apple. I make phone calls and puzzle over websites and have meetings and skype with friends. But I long to sleep. Instead, I go for a walk or I read a book or I pray. My prayers are scattered and more pleading than they are affirmative. Help me, I ask Whatever It Is. I hear nothing. With the silence as an answer I resume the doing. I think of Him, my stomache turns, I push away the thoughts, I answer some emails instead. I sing - momentary pleasure, I listen to other people's problems, I blog about my own. But really I just look forward to bedtime. When I get there I climb in and shove as many things in front of me as possible to squeeze away every last second of space where Him and Her might try to live. When I no longer see straight I allow It to wash over me and pull me away from the pain. No more best friend moving across the country to erase her regret. No more wondering what I want to be when I grow up. No more screen doors to frame the back of someone walking away toward something more important. Just sleep. With tired eyes, tired mind, tired soul, I sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream -
Ay, there's the rub.
With tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
Oh, If I could possibly make anyone understand -- how these words -- are my words -- how these words -- ring true to my core.
There are secrets that I keep, memories that haunt me and they make me old. That living room I stood in, four years old, and that man who should have protected me and, instead, chose to do the exact opposite. My brother reading to me, chair jammed up against the doorknob, his stories attempting to muffle the sounds of screaming and cyring and dishes breaking. A young friend coming to me for help when a man I told her she could trust abused that trust and being too young to know what to do, I did nothing. Torturing that shy girl in grade 4, making her cry, feeling nothing. Breaking his heart...and then his heart and then his heart. Now, it is my heart. Broken. And I am four again except this time I am turning 30 and I am so tired. Tired of feeling like I did the very first time I remember being left by my mother with a new and strange babysitter. Alone. Terrified. Clutching the front door, tiny face pressed to the screen, pleading for her to come come back. I was left. I am left.
And so I sleep. It drags me under like a drug and inside of it I am safe. During the day I do the things I know I must do. I get up, I pee, I gargle, apply some mascara, eat an apple. I make phone calls and puzzle over websites and have meetings and skype with friends. But I long to sleep. Instead, I go for a walk or I read a book or I pray. My prayers are scattered and more pleading than they are affirmative. Help me, I ask Whatever It Is. I hear nothing. With the silence as an answer I resume the doing. I think of Him, my stomache turns, I push away the thoughts, I answer some emails instead. I sing - momentary pleasure, I listen to other people's problems, I blog about my own. But really I just look forward to bedtime. When I get there I climb in and shove as many things in front of me as possible to squeeze away every last second of space where Him and Her might try to live. When I no longer see straight I allow It to wash over me and pull me away from the pain. No more best friend moving across the country to erase her regret. No more wondering what I want to be when I grow up. No more screen doors to frame the back of someone walking away toward something more important. Just sleep. With tired eyes, tired mind, tired soul, I sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream -
Ay, there's the rub.
posted by KJ Konkin at 11:50 PM
2 Comments:
Happy Birthday, Krista!
Love,
/Bro
Told you I would throw the Bard back at you....
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
It IS nobler to suffer the slings and arrows. By suffering them, you live. By opposing them, you show that you are you.
Please.. continue to be you, OK?
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