She said she’s grown tired of my stories
Yet she’s helped shape so many of them
A part of my tapestry
I can see she’s worn of us
Certainly of me
And I can’t help but be weary, of my damn self and all that I destroy
When I don’t keep it simple
When I try to overcorrect for my childhood
Reparent myself through maladaptive protections and projections
As if that start to this unfinished life ain’t part of my very splendor and power
When I run from or smash into my story
That she’s grown so tired of
So let’s create new ones
And heal