Finding Daisies

by Jessica Jocelyn

I wonder sometimes who I could’ve been had he loved her right had he loved us right.

when a man walks away from his family, he destroys so much more

he was the first man to say he was glad I was his, and the first man to deny my existence. he was the first man to say he’d stay for always, and the first man to walk out the door.

minutes like hours, hours like eternity.

I was told it never happened, or I must be remembering wrong. and although I was seeing things with my own eyes, I was taught not to trust them.

scars lined his arms and I’d ask why he would do that to himself? I would rather feel this than what I feel inside.

I don’t know how to explain this I don’t want to die, but I just can’t bear to exist right now.

it was about having nothing, yet having it all.

you led me to a mirror. “do you love her?” I stared straight into the girl looking back at me. I looked down and whispered “I’m not sure.” you put your hand gently on my shoulder and explained “then you cannot possibly love me, until you love her.”

dreams are a sweet escape

if the time ever comes when you lose yourself, I will never stop looking for you. I will be the one in the dark, holding a torch, to help guide you home.

we are imperfect humans, sometimes we just may never forgive but what we can’t forgive

I feel I may have reached a point where I became the very monster I spent my life trying to destroy.

I am subjective, just like poetry. to one, I was an intense love story but to another, I was the catalyst to their own personal implosion.

anxiety and depression are my hidden gifts. they are the parts I keep for myself. the ones I give to others are the giant smiles and laughter.

when you hurt under the surface, no one can see it or help you. so, it continues to grow like cancer in a way that by the time it does come about, it’s now too late.

no one can gaslight me better than myself.

every decision we make in this world affects others, which is why we must think carefully before we act.

begging for the secret code there must be to learn how to un-love someone.

I stopped talking to you because you stopped listening to what I had to say- I’m sure that you heard every word every single time but when I stopped talking and started listening with my eyes, they told me all I needed to know.

mourning the death of each other even though we knew the other was still in existence.

they tell me to be grateful for the pain, that it has shown me how strong I can be. they speak of resilience. maybe I already knew that strength inside. maybe I didn’t need something so painful to show me. maybe I’d rather be the girl I was before. the one who believed in magic and happy ever afters. maybe I’d rather have that innocence back, be that small naive girl once more. maybe I’d rather base my worth off how much beauty surrounds me and not how many times I crawled back up. maybe I’d rather know the girl I could’ve been.

forgiveness means different things to different people. forgiving means letting go of the pain, but I’m terrified that if I let go, I will forget and I don’t want to forget. I need to always remember how it felt so, it can guide me.

we sucked in deep breathing our first breaths as we are both born. you, for the first time and me, once more.

a mother doesn’t just create you and your wings, she teaches you how to use them

it’s easy for others to give advice based on facts, but they aren’t playing with the whole deck of cards. they don’t have the experiences that go with it so, when someone tells you “oh, I would never… I would definitely do this instead!” it’s all useless because they weren’t there and you can’t navigate a situation correctly if you’ve never been there before.

should we drown in these tears or run and gather supplies to build a boat? sink or swim? we get to decide.

sometimes we don’t see the signs because we didn’t know we were supposed to be looking for them.

the bad thing about experience is you have to first get burned to learn that fire is hot.

love yourself first irrevocably, unconditionally. the rest will fall into place.

healing is a very messy ride

because everyone suffers but not everyone decides to heal and healing is not for the weak.

know this, you may have left me at ground zero but I grew to be taller than either of us could’ve ever imagined.

could there be anything more beautiful than a woman’s body, especially one that tells the many stories of the different lives she’s lived?

when you finally find your voice, not everyone will like it and some may not stay. your voice will draw lines in the sand and those lines will create boundaries. those boundaries will end up protecting you from the people who benefitted from you having none. never lower your voice again

you can try to forget me but you’ll never escape my voice and the words that immortalize your sins. I speak for the many previous versions of me, from the lost little girl to the scared adolescent to the young broken-hearted wife. I speak for them because they had no voice and now I am loud enough for all of us. writers are dangerous because poetry is easy all you do is simply tell the truth.

it takes a brave person to sit in their pain and just be.