Tears in My Spaghetti

Tears fall in my spaghetti,
As I sit here in this bed.
29 days seems like forever,
29 days I dread.
I force this food down,
to feed the life within,
The life we both formed.
How I long for you to be with us,
To be here and be one
But healthy going forward.
I weep,
I’m torn,
I’m terrified.
I don’t understand what feeds the demons,
When there’s so much light.
I long for your hands to touch me,
And the words of “Everything will be okay.”
I dream of complete healing,
That will make us whole one day.
If love can hold us together,
Then I’ll trust in this truth.
I’m finishing up this spaghetti,
Until tomorrow I’ll think of you.

The House My Father Built

I spread the blood on the front door
But the rope still clings around my neck
Each time I escape its grasp,
I move on,
and take another step.

I’d be grateful just for four walls,
But my innocence has lost me
I’m not the same,
The small girl is no longer me,
Even though looking at her face,
I relate to her familiarity.

Trapped inside the coldness,
Of a life that was not ready,
To step out.
When walking out the door of youth,
I never realized that,
The house my father built
Will no longer stand.

So I go back,
And pick up the sharp, edged pieces
With bloody hands,
And try to force them back together.
The will is strong,
But I painfully learn,
The will has limitations,
And accepting this is not weakness,
But truth.

Like the small girl,
I dream.
Of a nest
To call my own,
A wooden sanctuary of safety,
Quietness,
And peace.
But like the Sparrow,
I must labor
And hunt
For the damp, dewy twine
And the moss from the tree tops,
To collect,
To form the firm foundation
My soul needs.

The house my father built,
Was made with passion
And tiny droplets of perspiration
From his brow…
Motivated by a love,
That won’t be forgotten,
But will be carried on,
Into the home his daughter builds.