Visceral Pain

You were my first.

Not my first kiss. Not my first love, or my first pain. You weren’t my first sunshine, or my first rain.

Not my first teacher it’s true, but you might have been the first to really get through.

Your lessons were like a hammer against the remainder of my pride. Your brand of love was just the poison I needed to retch the lies still hiding inside.

Again and again I was faced with my own brand of hypocrisy. Again and again I tried to run, but until all was revealed I couldn’t break free.

I may never know how much was love and how much was attachment to familiar shadows. I may never find words for just how deep the love and pain goes.

But what I know for sure is that so much was revealed. So much was forsaken, but just as much healed.

I walked in knowing, in a way, where this would lead. But you were the first to make me willing to see it through and let myself bleed.

The wounds are fresh again and so I choose how to tend them. A little girl was wrapped in scars, but this woman knows how to mend them.

©️ 2024 Cristen Writes