Hole

I seem to have a knack for missing things that hurt me.  It's not that I love pain or anything, but once something is gone, it always seems so much better than it was.  It wasn't so bad...I could handle a lot more...I wasn't really unhappy...(and the worst) it might have hurt, but I'd rather suffer through it than suffer from the lack of it.  The memory of pain is always so much dimmer than the experience of it.

I wish there was a way to cut out this hole inside me.  I know that doesn't make sense: cutting out the hole will only leave a bigger one.  But at least it would be of my own choice and making.  A piece of you was grafted on to me and when you ripped it away, you took part of me with you.  Now, like a missing limb, I feel the ache of what used to be.  You weren't good for me, you hurt me...but you mattered to me.  At least if I were to cut my own hole, I would remove the taint of you; the ragged edges you left so carelessly behind.

Walls

layer by layer
the walls are built.
 Ice
    Stone
          Brick
a medley of materials
stacked
one
atop another
each for a specific purpose.
 Ice not to feel
    Stone not to care
          Brick for strength.
 moss pushes through
to soften
add serenity.
but still they stand firm
serving their purpose.
 Ice to repel
    Stone to reject
          Brick to withstand
a garden lies hidden
hesitant and
wounded.
yet it continues to grow
protected by
 Ice
    Stone
          Brick.
someday, One will come with the strength
the patience
to slowly tear down the walls
to reveal and care for
the beauty within.
 Ice can melt
    Stone can crack
          Brick can crumble
Someday.
but for now, the walls remain.