A Storied Life

Have an itch to read the story of my life?          
To flip through the pages of what defines me?          
Do yourself a favor,          
before cracking the binding open,          
leave your mind vacant of expectations.    
... and grab a box of tissue.                          
                         
It’s not a story of hope.                          
You won’t find an inspiring tale              
of how the broken butterfly mended her wings,           carrying out her days, fluttering              
along the countryside.                          
                         
There’s no hero in this story.                        
Just a simple girl    
juggling the shattered pieces of her heart,    
while life keeps trying to                          
tie her hands behind her back.                          
Fighting to keep her light shining                        
whilst engaging in a flirtatious,                          
seductive tango with darkness.                          
It’s a harrowing story of haunting pain, devastating heartbreak, and relentless survival.                          
                         
It’s raw, honest, and real.                          
The pages soaked in tears,                          
transcribed with the blood of my bleeding heart.         The words that fill the pages                
were bought at a extortionate price.              
Trading the desolation of my soul          
for the right to speak my truth.                          
                         
Come prepared to be  flooded            
by emotional vehemence    
Be warned, you may find yourself screaming out    
in sympathetic horror.                
Possibly even slamming it closed, in disbelief.    
Or overwhelmed with frustration                
sending it on a projectile trip across the room.                
 
If when you finish, you find yourself                
feeling sorry for me,                
flip it over, and read it again.                
Carefully surveying each page,                
like an excavator of truth                
You’ll know you’ve found the messages                
If you reach the end  with a better understanding    
of yourself, not me.                          
                         
And when you’re done                
expect to feel numb                
yet, an emotional wreck.                
Mind pondering a million racing thoughts.          Haunted by the realization that                
you’ve only read the words                
poured onto the page,                
I’m the one who lived through them....                    
            
Maybe there’s the glimmer of hope