I Remember You

I remember you…
cute dresses,
bright eyes
up and ahead,
sun-kissed tresses, 
shades of smiles
genuine,
wonder and hope
and appreciation,
giving, giving, 
car conversations
with Him, 
up, up
chin, 
letting others in, 
learning to break
patterns
to protect
from theft
what’s mine
within.

I remember you,
am returning now,
will keep on the journey 
toward the true
and beautiful
Daughter, self.

Thank you, Lord, for the friends who saw me through it with You (again)…

Juryless

Nothing I can do or say,
no amount of love,
can faze the victim
of the self
while he is being Judge –

condemning, sentencing,
self-shackling to disgust,
the mirror of my eyes
that hold the truth,
and all this evidence,

falls upon deaf ears –
the abused,
too far gone…

All I can do is wait
patiently
until the trial’s done.

It’s hard
to accept being helpless
while keeping it separate
from not being enough,

but I’ve met
Depression personally
and know he’s
other-world…

At the back of the courtroom,
I stay knelt
and keep praying with faith to
our shared God,

and when you
recognize me
and are ready,
I’ll take you home,
my sweet love.

Repel With A Cause

What if
I repelled the shame
of all the ways
my overly-passionate heart
led me supposedly
astray?

And what if
all of the astrays revisited
ended
up being
my most-treasured
blessings,
brothers, friends?

And what if

this heart of mine
were not in fact
a curse
but one of the greatest
gifts bestowed
upon this earth

to wield not
a shield welded
from past pains
but to let loose
in full potential
this love
like saving
rain?

Breaking Chains

When the hurt floods in
and your traumas
drain your green
and starve to death
your newly-sprouted dream,

when the cobwebs reappear
and re-chain you
to faulty self-beliefs, 
when you bow your head
and turn with shame from me,

know that I 
will always remain
to break the cycle
of love leaving you again.

I will lend my green 
and yellow and light,
and whisper that I love you
still and more and despite

like you have done for me
in this beautiful, mutual growing

of self-love. 

Amidst and Between

Amidst the thorns,
beneath the wounds,
we can take turns
bringing self-love
to bloom,

we’ll smooth
the edges
so raw and jagged,
each lend the silk
of virgin petals

birthed in kisses
and gentle touches,
countering the poisons 
of previous “gardeners”
with ill-intentions,
fencing us from 
freedom.

We’ll remain
faithful companions,
take turns in the cycle
of taking and giving,

in sun and shadow,
through every internal
season and weathered vane.

We’ll simply heal
and learn
what love is,
together
the right way

until we both
blossom white,
centers exposed
to feel 
the cleansing 
rain. 

Love will 
beget love
which will 
beget love
to spread.

It begins
with us.
It begins 
within. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Mythological Growths

Cycloptic serpent
scorched deep
into my being,
color of decay
not even attempting
to camouflage
into my resilient green,
laying eggs,
disease breeding,
growing larger,
but still unable
to see,
for at my core
is also my heart,
and it bleeds
in light.
You try
to grow more eyes,
but this love
inside
will always
render you
blind,
not Karma
but what is right
finally
for I have falsely seen
too clearly
all my life

your lies.

The exorcist has arrived:
self-love.
Parasite,
good final bye.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Somewhere Along the Way

I suppose somewhere
along the way, 
this became 
about me, 
this once person
conditioned
to inwardly
mistreat,
neglect, 
bury
prematurely
at sea,

too busy
keeping them
afloat
in puddles,
sacrificing my soul
for others, 

in the lows 
between lowers
in that life
unstable,
vows before God
to remain 
(abusive) spouse faithful,

the escape-clause
contingencies blurred,
repercussions lingering 
in the years after,

children ten years apart,
and always children,
I keep on 
giving,
Silverstein tree 
down to the trunk,
instead of remaining
to be sat upon,
I leave my roots
to carry on,

re-sprouting from
acorns and seeds
to reach the end
of land
as a sunflower, 
brazen yet desperate,
in the sand
to be plucked
by a youthful hand

and sprinkled
into the surf
for the mermaids 
to collect 
and bring to the site
of where I left
myself
and resurrect 

from Davy Jones’ Locker
the Heart of the Sea
still alive
in its keeper:
me. 

The ducks and swans
gather to greet
at the pond
where I used to
weep. 

Donned now
in floral dresses
and locks
long enough 
to dance freely 
with the breeze, 
(he always said
neither looked good
on me…)
the reflection I see
is another plot twist
in my ongoing story

with an ending
yet to be written 
but full of God’s 
golden glory,
His daughter’s strength 
ever-growing. 

Somewhere along the way, 
somehow this did become
about me. 
Another struggle lifted,
another soulful healing. 

In the setting sun,
I reflect upon the journey
and look so forward
to the fulfilling
of my legacy.

I will never drown,
for you can only
hold me down
so long, 
years but moments
in the eternity 
of dawn. 

Hope unconditionally
floats
from the buoyancy 
of love. 

This is my story, 
long overdue 
to be 
self-sung.

I actually do like to sing those soulful songs.
(He always changed the station if I even began to hum…)