Bleeding Heart


Photo credit Freedom With Writing,

2015 has not been the better of years. There has been a lot of pain and suffering, loss, misunderstanding, alienation and degradation. I grieve for losses and hurts others don’t want to know or understand. My husband has grieved for losses and hurts that others only felt pricked their own hearts, when in fact his pain is just as real.

There were some highlights, though. I finished the first draft of my first novel in January. John’s youngest grandson was born in April. My son married his love in August.

Still, for a woman who found her voice so late in the game, life has basically been a bitch.

I’m tired.

Here is my end-of-the-year word on that matter.



Bleeding Heart


When they look upon you their eyes

are closed, but for your flaws;

their hearts remain sealed to sooth sayers

to beauty, unmoved by pain and darkness,

or other human suffering and dreams.

Their ears are closed to the song of your

soul, to anything outside their complacence

casting light upon their comfortable shadows

while they seek silence, to strangle your star,

for its radiance reveals.


As with their own reflection they scratch and snarl,

raking your eyes and mouth, searing

your skin, bubbling and burning at the touch;

their minds leap to conclusions and cruel

disdain, against what you represent—

your truth,

against what you tell the world—

your story,

against their nonexistent desire to understand,

for knowledge is power.


Your words strike like a hammer on the anvil,

pounding at their petrified ignorance, pricking

their pretention, threatening to wither

a wall of steel wrapped

so carefully around their compassion;

They name you an ingrate and impostor,

your words cut into their hardened

hearts, revealing the black and white

stone detached and dead, fetid with fear,

for they are immovable.

Photo Credit Freedom With Writing

So they name you Troublemaker;

they bare their fangs like wanton warriors

wounded animals, they feed like starving

beasts tearing  your flesh while they wipe out

your words, maligning as they proclaim their prowess;

subjugation and scorn slip from their mouths, twisted tales

of your transgressions, staining the pages

purifying their motives

against your voice an open vein

for you are a forbearing fool.



Kim Bailey Deal

December 30, 2015


  1. Your December 2015 post is very touching and yet it showed me how when we are suffering no one understands our pain for they are busy in their own lives. It made me think of olden days when people got together for days to celebrate opportunities and mourn losses. They did it as a group and I believe it lessened the pain. In the modern world someone has to come up with similar rituals that people in the old days followed. This helps us stay focused in the moment.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Majida. I appreciate that you noticed. I agree, we don’t help one another through painful seasons of life as many cultures did at one time. Grief is a lonely business in our modern life.


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