Poems Coming Full Circle

 I found these poems today. I wrote them back in 2007, and I'm amazed once again that life comes full circle and these poems are truer for my life than they ever were back then. But I think I'm getting closer than I ever was, so that's good, at least. 2007 Eileen had no idea where she would be in 15 years (2007 Eileen didn't even have the guts yet to go by her middle name, so she was still going around telling people to call her "Lillian"). We've come a long way, baby.

Maybe

In the darkness that has been my home

my head filled with thoughts that aren't my own

My wrists held down so I cannot move

or breathe

or think

or feel

or prove

Something inside that is not me

forced its way in but I let it be

come part of who I think I am

spurting

hurting

blame

shame

sham

I could not remember what was real

I knew what I felt but I should not feel

Inside outside upside down

my tomb

room

closet

hallowed

ground

Dripping blood and sweat and tears

Let go of the faith I'd faked for years

I thought that good could touch me no more

empty

hollow

rotten

core

But soft now, and quiet, a flicker I see

who I am is becoming me

hate still covers this empty shell

but maybe

maybe not

too

soon

to tell

Maybe-just maybe I'm not alone

I have a place; I have a home

No solid report yet that I can bring

maybe

nothing

yet that

may be

everything 

© 2007 by Lillian Patterson

Chance of Rain

Trying to learn to like the cold.

Because I'm always

cold.

So I might as well get used to it.

Right?

And find something I love 

in something I hate?

Isn't that the way to go?

I don't even remember why

I hate it

anymore.

It's been a part of me so long.

The cold

I'm trying to learn to like

(to love).

Trying to learn to touch

to feel

the distant things I cannot reach

a million miles away

under my skin

in my blood

my bones

my marrow

me.

So here I sit

(in this chair

in this house

that isn't home)

an empty shell longing 

to be filled

with something more than

me.

Trying to think of something

else that I could

be.

I miss the feeling

I miss the flood

The rain, the pain, the tears, the blood

the bones, the marrow

me.

Reaching out

into the dark

I find something there to touch

to feel.

I wrap the blanket

tightly 

and try to remember

what it feels like

to be warm.

© 2007 by Lillian Patterson