We choose our words so carefully
afraid to give too much away;
deciding just what to reveal
but never saying what we feel.
We dance across each other’s thoughts
while masking our inadequacies
one step forward two steps back,
must rein emotion skillfully.
We always choose the safest route,
to shield ourselves from being broken–
and when we’re unsure who to blame
just blame it on the words unspoken.
© Ginny Brannan 2021
When someone screams
“You don’t know what it’s like,”
their pointed words, sharp and honed
their venom cutting to the bone–
what gives them freedom to assume?
What is it they hope to gain?
The players change, but pain’s the same…
and is your path so different than my own?
Don’t visit retribution on the stranger
don’t assume you know what they’ve been through
we cannot fix what’s broken by our anger,
or putting out our trials for review—
as tear escapes despite attempts to hide it
it’s because we’re broken, just like you
©Ginny Brannan 2021
Image: Google Images, Shutter Stock, Oil Painting
The past is in the past
we never have looked back
our lives already cast—
but in the quietude
when I can’t fall asleep
I recall a time
from that place where memories steep.
Under this façade,
where all is status quo
sometimes I have pondered;
—but things are what they are
and what was meant to be
has already unfolded.
O, how we skirt our truth
when speaking of our youth,
it’s better not to say…
when words diminish memories
and just get in the way
© Ginny Brannan 2021
Would that you knew me
who I actually am, and
not some misguided notion
of who you perceive me to be…
Would that you knew
the inner workings of my mind,
all the cuts and mars that line my soul.
Would you find me intriguing
…or just a fool in kind?
I’d like to believe the years
have polished this once rough stone,
smoothed its edges, honed its patina—
I think I’ve come into my own.
We grow from the light that shines upon us
we change to become who we need to be
and what we endure either reforms or break us
we can rise from the depths, or drown in the sea.
The scars that we carry do not define us
our passions, our fury, comes from within;
and each hit we take that is meant to collapse us
invokes reason to stand in defiance again.
I’ve seen what you’re made of, the darkness you carry
but also the light you have hidden inside
and accept you’ve been places that I haven’t travelled
through the stories you’ve shared or what you’ve implied.
Would that you knew what I carried inside me,
would you pull back in horror from what you had seen?
Or accept who I am— in whole or in pieces—
knowing full well we are more than we seem
or leave without knowing what lies in the shadows
and nary a clue to what might have been.
© Ginny Brannan 2021
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| Photo by C. Parant Appetite for Photos "Watercolors" |
How often we have said hello
during times when things are status quo
and every day blends into one;
it’s during those times that seem mundane
the times when everything’s the same
we banter over little things,
maybe share a laugh or two
parade our memories for review;
these moments somehow keep us sane.
And on the days with clouds and rain
when there isn’t much to say,
when the wind picks up the waves
and threatens us with hurricane
and world takes on an ugly hue…
you’ve talked me through the hurt I feel
lifted me beyond the pain
to set me on my course again.
And when there’s nothing left to add
when the words have petered out
and it’s time we bid adieu,
I will tell you to ‘take care’
it means exactly as it sounds
…stay safe, be well, you’re part of me
and I am here and I’m your friend…
and so much more that isn’t said.
It stems from that place deep within
where friendship and where love abide
camaraderie between two friends
rolling with the wind and tide
© Ginny Brannan 2021
