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November 13, 2022


It seems almost divine.
the way things align.

I don’t prevent
the poetry penned
during this difficult time.

I am not forsaken
nor forgotten
by my future,
by life
though it felt that way.

It really did.

I couldn’t see the organic me
beyond the facade of him.

I wasn’t sure which shards
of my shattered heard
and diamond hard facets
I’d come to see through
once I stopped viewing me..
through the eyes of “you”.

What should I pray to preserve
or beg God to dissolve
into a forever forgetting..?

Do you know the miracle
of how a broken heart heals?
it mends by means
I never knew exists
when ensconced in a blind love
wandering through the mist.

It’s like surgery~
sans anesthesia.
I feel every cut
every scalpel slice,
And oh ,does it hurt
with a searing white light.

It bleeds…
I thought I might die.
But I didn’t.
I know I’m alive
because I still rage
and question the sky,
and as it opens,
with it, I cry.

And then,
as if clouds have parted,
clarity is newly

my heart,
my soul,
stepped-upon by a muddy boot
then heals.

And for a while
I seem unrecognizable
to myself
as I place illusions of
remembered “love”
upon a more sensible,
sturdy shelf.

And I grow..
but now
different in shape.

I’m writing this
as a tattoo pen is stinging~
singing permanent beauty
upon my flesh.
A cover-up piece-
building a beautiful scene
around what was once
botched..and ugly

now black and white
with shades of gray-

the tone in which I’m now residing
as I emerge from heartache’s hiding.

Art from pain,
lessons learned

after a burn

Exhuberant blossoms
of birthmonth flowers
and a sweet sparrow spirit
now marks my flesh
a timestamp of
healing the inner agony
through external pain,
with what is new and fresh.

The barren landscape of sadness ..
turning into
surprising gladness-
that this recent ache will dissipate,
scab over,
and scar.

Then again,
I may never forget my time of
being with him

But all that remains
that I will always see,
is this lovely tattoo
celebrating my skin.

Lisa O’Neil-Guerci

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