There are five straight stages of grief

            Mine, however, are all jumbled, uneven and completely out of order

First is denial, then denial, then depression, then denial. How odd. More denial then, thief

 

Remember before?

    Before i recognized anything or knew anything? I’d run around pretending and giggling; telling you my utter fantasies. Pretend you were in love with me; pretend those words were meant for mine

Actually i was right; the melody sang

I didn’t know before, i just pretended, sounded so sweet, so fine, so right, so mine

 

        Now i pretend again. I pretend you have not really left me; that there were hidden messages screaming Hold on! Hold on! Hold on, just a little longer! I pretend you have reason for throwing me out with the wild dogs.

    Slamming, then locking the door DAMN the click of that echoed in my ears for hours; days; weeks now

        It’s so cold, did Heathcliff ever, even once, lock Cathy out on the moors? He might have, can’t remember, but the strangers who came later sure did. i’m determined & desiring… like Cathy, who finally got into the window, didn’t she? You had to lock it

 

        It’s been 11 hours and 18 days since you slammed me out, busted my pride, my heart, the dream i seek

        Then just under 2 hours ago i discovered you not only locked the door but you paid off local locksmiths so no one will ever help me to even peek.

How very strategic of you, General Poof.

 

No idea if you are OK, if you are hurt, if you are angry, if you are in love, if you are in trouble, 

i have loud alarming reverberating overwhelming painful pounding vibrations of pure and utter silence

                   All the time

                              Every second

It’s only denial

   but you called the locksmith! How dare you

 

Not aware of my

Druid Amazon Knightful-Goddess Earth-Mother Dancing-Priestess Egyptianish Indonesianish heritage, are you? I walk tall, Sir Mr. Man. I stand & walk tall in beauty. Always have.

We, as a tribe, go only where the door is open to us; the way is known.

                                                     Never have we picked a lock; we have no need

                                               for no love has ever been stopped by a small little lock

 

 

 

A restraining order on my heart

    unimaginably sad, hurt, lonely, baffled, angry, and so confused;

did u not hear me waving goodbye; wishing you well?did i make such a fool of myself just then?just now?just past?how much erasing can i do how fast?

Quick, no one saw me -- did they?

I want to fall in a small lonesome hole and dig in the mud

accept horrendous loss, humiliating misunderstanding; lick my wounds; sleep all winter.

 

And there, after all, bubbles up every stage of grief. In a mudpit. I’ll wear my old clothes.