Surrendering To Grief. {poetry}

Today I am a failure.

I’m failing at being a wife.

I’m failing at being a mother,

I’m failing at being a friend and a lover.

I’m failing at saying what I want.

I’m failing at asking for what I need.

I’m failing at grieving.

I’m failing at mourning.

I crumple onto

the shower floor

and let the steaming hot water

pour over my body,

wash away my tears

until hot

becomes warm,

becomes cold.

I cower there

with tangled wet hair,

and let the icy cold water

pour over my body,

wash away my tears

until I’m shivering.

From the cold,

the grief,

the fear.

I shiver and rage.

And yet the tears still come

in waves and violent fits,

as I beat my hands on my chest

and beg for the pain to end,

as I beat my head on the tiled wall,

and beg for the pain to end.

I shiver and rage.

I hear cracks and breaks,

as if glass has shattered

all around me.

When I look around

through the haze of salty tears

I expect to see blood.

Crimson, metallic, and murky,

yet all I see is clear water

flowing down the drain.

And still,

cracks and breaks

and great shattering crashes

echo all around me,

echo within and through me.

I shiver and rage.

My heart,

my soul,

my spirit,

have erupted

into tortured chaos.

I’ve tried so hard

to keep going,

to just make it one more day,

one more hour,

one more breath.

To live.

To survive.

To thrive.

Then, I surrender.

Today I do not fail.

I allow the grief

to overtake me.

To swallow me whole.

To rip out my heart

and have its way with me.

I succumb to its power.

Today I remove

my queen’s crown.

I remove my goddess wings

and superhero cape,

my knight’s suit of armor,

my f*ck-me heels,

and my warrior paint.

I lay down my sword,

throw my shield

to the side.

The protective walls

come crumbling down

into piles of ash and dust

as grief comes

barreling toward me.

I lie down naked and spent,

arms spread wide,

stripped down to

my very core,

ravaged by the inner beast

of loss of pain,

of grief.

I cry for what was

and for what will never be.

I howl at the moon

as it hides behind

gray and ominous clouds.

I feel the cold wet drops

of pain,

of grief,

of loss.

They sear holes

as they burn

through my flesh.

I shiver and rage.

Today I surrender to grief.


MelissaDodsonMelissa Dodson is a California girl who found her home in the trees of Portland, OR. She’s a wife and mom, a writer and a Death Midwife. She writes about being a motherless daughter, grief, depression, vulnerability, and the beauty of a messy life. She is a dream-catcher, a grief-warrior, a survivor, a book-whore. Her work has been featured on Rebelle Society, The Tattooed Buddha, The Manifest-Station, behind-the-ink, and Some Talk of You & Me.  You can follow her blog, or find her on  Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.


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