I Feel Like a Thief

I hesitate to post this one, when I am attempting to begin this year with peace . . . and having worked through that specific part of my grief process in the voicing of it.

However, it is significant. It is about more than one event or process. It is where I was . . . and where I may be again . . .

*12/08/16 - edited version of voice note from car, around 6:40 - 6:50 pm

I feel like a thief,

wanting to process my grief

that I see abandoned

in eyes where I left it

in light where the shadows reveal it

reflecting only broken parts

that once encased my heart

to shelter it from harm

that once allowed me safety

for as long as it would last

in isolation, without air

I try to hold the pieces.

I try to keep them close,

afraid that I might not exist

if they do not cut me

if they refuse to persist

while I hold them within

while I hide in my skin

while I hold my breath

I am used to this,

the way they are sharp

to remind me I am not yet

all the way dead.

But I did not anticipate

the way they would slash the ones

I meant to embrace

I am a thief,

turning to the ones I wound

in desperate need

for energy and faith,

belief in something

other than the losses

and the limits

set by scarcity

Taking will not erase

or lighten darkness

the child inside me

still protects and

would not allow

in my heart

or my mind

When the faceless he

and the ones who controlled

tried to own

what would never be theirs

Taking will confuse

and haunt the child

real and alive,

Outside of me

who might wonder

how she came to be,

where she belongs.

Was she given as a gift,

or sent away in agony?

Was she offered as a plea,

a living sacrifice,

where loss becomes

new life?

I carried her inside me,

and buried my own will

to bear her body and release

her from my being.

But when I heard her cry

and saw her face I knew

I could not be at peace

with letting go

of what I had attempted

as a generous detachment,

denial of intention to possess

or call her mine

Holding her against my chest

bathing her with tears

and love that stumbled in too late

drunken with agony,

sobered in reality

I could no longer believe

that she was only God's

I could not force the story

that the purpose of her being

was just a symbol

of the death I carried

and bore in my soul

for too many years

that begged to be awakened

and reborn

The greatest loss I know

conceived by choice

and what I thought was love

lost by choice,

and what I hope was love,

not just pain

stacked on older pain

forgotten, begging loudest

from the place most silenced

Unable to sleep

for at least a thousand nights.

I feel like a thief,

not wanting to be seen,

but dying to be noticed,

trying to disappear

and scream all at once.

I feel like a thief,

given more than I need.

and still hating it all, sometimes

still hating what lives

and dies inside

And this child I let go,

what does losing her make me?

Not a thief or a taker

not a giver, a lover or hater

something in between those spaces,

where I hold on with my heart

and also slam the door

to love

Maybe my name is not

Invisible, but Empty.

Only empty here,

no view of, sense of grace.

What more can I possibly give

than what I have already laid

upon the altar, weighed upon my soul?

What do you want from me?

You, who lays this feast before me

How do I still starve?

How is it I never learned

the art of receiving

of being nourished by the meal

So I might not feel

the constant need

To steal?


*December 8, 2014 is the day I associate with signing the papers to place my baby girl for adoption.