Anon Poet User

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Tolerance

This kind of pain doesn’t go away,
You simply learn to tolerate it more.

When your heart is broken
it doesn’t heal.
You cannot mend it.
You can’t sew it, or glue it
back together.
You simply gather up the pieces from the floor
and shove them back in your chest.
Perhaps one day eventually
they find each other again
as you learn to love once more.
But you must warn them.
Warn them that the pieces are fragile in their hands.
And you’re afraid.
Afraid that if you trust them with the pieces
they will be shattered
so you give less.
Sometimes, they do.
And the particles fall like crimson droplets
and evaporate.
You’re left with a hole in your chest,
Pain where there is nothing
like the man who loses his leg
and feels pain where he’s left with
a blank.

This kind of pain doesn’t go away,
You simply learn to tolerate it more.

Eventually a smile may creep back to your lips
or force a bubble of laughter from your throat.
But the pain is still there.
Nagging at you like a hungry child
whose cries become background noise
After time.
Time is not a healer.
It simply makes space between long
and short term memories.
Space for forgetfulness at least in that brief moment
of a genuine smile, and laughter that isn’t a cover.
Space, as the space that sits between your lungs
no longer beating,
no longer feeling.

This kind of pain doesn’t go away,
You simply learn to tolerate it more.

The feeling is empty.
Numb.
The pain lingers, but
You have lived with it for so long
that it no longer requires your attention.
The child’s voice is unheard,
the missing leg is standard,
Space consumes you.
You yourself are now the void
in your chest.
Caved in on yourself,
Alone, despaired, dark.
Until one day,
Someone reaches in, letting in the light,
Offering a hand. Maybe you take it,
willing to risk being let go and falling back in
because you’ve already been at the bottom.
They pull you out of yourself,
slowly. And you let your eyes adjust
To the blinding light you haven’t seen
in what seemed like ages.
And though the void still sits in your chest
it is simply room to be filled.

This kind of pain doesn’t go away,
You simply learn to tolerate it more.

And it’s because of that hand
that saved you from yourself
and allowed you to tolerate, and
Move On.
To fill the once empty space
with love, joy, passion, music, art,
HAPPINESS.
Maybe the hand was a lesson, an awakening.
Perhaps it was God who saved you.
Music. Family. Friends. A soulmate.
One way or another,
an INSPIRATION.
One way or another,
it was YOUR CHOICE
to take the hand, and trust again.

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