Poetry of Stephanie Bennett Henry, Uncategorized

Heart and Mind

My heart always says I’m sorry, but my mind says… no, you’re not sorry. You cannot be sorry. Why would you be sorry for feeling? For loving? For hurting? No, stop apologizing and explaining things that just are. But my heart, my heart… it makes me pay for that. It makes me hurt for that, makes me bleed the fuck out for that. With every beat, it wants me to prove why each crack was worth the pain, why I spent nights crying myself empty, only to wake the next day filled again with the pieces of a breaking I don’t have answers to. Those pieces.. they don’t always fit back the right way and I’m only a puzzle that can never be whole again. So I sit here as out of place as I’ve always been anyway, questioning my heart, the way it breaks and splits, and takes me to my knees to search for reason. All the while my mind says, get the fuck up. Stop analyzing the sharp edges of your stupid heart, stop second guessing the beats every time you don’t find reason or rhyme; you will with time. My heart constantly says time is nothing more than cruel hands that refuse to hold me when I need it the most, makes me beg for a letting go that should fly freely, but takes its sweet time and lingers inside so I feel each moment like seconds holding the sharpest knives cutting through old wounds to make sure they stay new. And I feel every minute like seconds crumbling me into a fresh breaking that time has no plans to heal; so I kneel. Pray for a blessing that somewhere in the thousands of pieces, I will find a lesson that my heart and mind can agree on and learn from it. And the lessons learned will be the stepping stones into the growth of my self worth I’ve been searching for and the prices I paid to reach it won’t seem so high; my heart and mind both tell me I can fly, but there’s no proof of that until I reach the sky and feel the wind against my face, when the pain of this is nothing more than a memory that time left its handprints on, and I can remember it fondly without a trace of pain from the hands of time that took so long to heal.

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry


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