phantom and undercover

a poem about returning back to god

i rest her to bed when she’s tired and falls deep asleep on the sofa.

i carry her to bed like the baby i know resides inside of her,

even as my arms tremble, and as I hold my breath to the point until i get an ache at either side of my forehead’s-temples, careful not to wake her

although it is invisible now:

i fight for what feels like a lifetime and eternity, determined to find the child within her that feels frightened, eager to help soothe her, who needs a hand just like mine to reach out and help her…

I then learn the hard way

from 31 adult sized tooth prints,

sunk into the skin on my right hand

spelling out to me: that it was was not my job to save her…

there was a deep rumbling in my belly, telling me that it’s empty and it’s time for me to feed myself

in my previous life, it had felt good to be needed externally, i thought that was what filled me up.

but it was at that point that I decided (again)

that it was my responsibility to pour into me, and to only turn to god fulfil and satiate the hunger of my soul.

[Cathartic exit: stage left]