Cold. Hands. Poetry as a tool for grief and healing
His eyebrows expressing
the sorrow, the guilt, the shame
the bliss, the adoration, the sweet cherishing
the darkness that often held him captive
a prisoner in his own mind
Depths we both felt
But so few understand
depths we explored
juicy and wet
passion and intimacy
Our souls remembering lifetimes past
melting the ice over our hearts
intoxicating
irresistible
His hand gently undressing
me on the banks of the river
where we made love
as beams of divine light cascaded
through the forest canopy above
moss in my hear
water rushing by
our bodies joined
in bliss
slowly, tenderly
But now he is dead
and his hands are cold
before they became ash
buried in the high alpine
where his spirit came alive
the place that ended
many cycles
for you. for me. for us.
of devotion
you left me on the river
on my most precious healing sanctuary
my relationship forever changed
to what has brought me joy beyond measure
my hands are cold, longing
for your embrace
photo of Charlie’s hands by @clarajulia_peru
Cold
Hands
Every crease and fold
dirt caked under your nails
I studied them faithfully
doorways to the soul
like your eyes
every blink, every expression
shifting with mood and light
I worshipped your hands
I worshipped your eyes
I worshipped your heart
Now, cold. Mine and yours.
Your hands, eyes, heart. Cold.
Dead. I held them
and kissed them all.
as I held your cold, dead body.
three times. time dissolved
I pulled your cold hand to my face
the blood staining my cheek
confused
Is it mine? Is it yours?
my heart is bleeding and it won’t stop
You used to tenderly stroke my face
hold it preciously with your
warm, thick, calloused hands
hands I will never forget
I feel them now
on my heart
holding my hands
caressing my face
like you always did
I see your fingers
plucking the strings
of your guitar
I watch your fingers
the same fingers that brought
me so much pleasure
deep inside me
he played me like the sweet, haunting
heavy lyrics that poured from his heart
he sometimes whispered
he sometimes belted
as a single tear slipped down his cheek
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Poetry as a tool for grief and healing
Poetry and writing in general can be a beautiful tool to express your feelings regarding anything- especially loss, grief, heartbreak and ALL the hard emotions we often try to suppress.
You need not write to share.
You write for YOU.
You write to process.
You write for catharsis.
Try it yourself
I encourage you to set aside 10-15 minutes with a journal
and free write
let the words flow
let the tears flow
let your heart crack wide open
let the pain out
Free yourself of judgement
Every feeling is valid
Every feeling is impermanent
We must feel it to HEAL it…
Allow it to move through you
No structure
No rules
No timeline
Just fucking let it out
You can write on paper. I prefer the physicality of a pen and paper.
You can write on a computer. or transfer to later to share. or not.
Make this your own. Allow your intuition to guide you.
If it’s something you feel inspired to share, share it.
I found it so cathartic to read to my sisters, my aunt, close soul sisters who know my heart.
it gave me the strength to share it with you.
I hope it touches your heart and inspires your own healing journey.
Big love,
M
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