#kinda sdlkjdsglj; i mean the poem is [g] the moodboard is not but here we are

[thatfriendlyanon]

I told You not to take off Your shoes but You did it anyway as if this is some holy image-born ground and not just the dirty tiles of my kitchen floor and I told You to give me the keys and leave me alone but You came knocking anyway and waited until I opened the door even though You could have climbed in through the window and I call You He but I have learned more about Your true self through my mother than from any man I’ve known and in answer You say You’re a mother too.

i am proud of you. you stand on the threshold of a terrible past & recount the shapes of ghosts that have been haunting you for thirteen years. i am proud of you. we take stock of the trinkets placed around our bedroom, each one tied to a memory or precious friend, to remind us that we are Here. i am proud of you. you touch tender parts that are still healing, name them & lay them out like blankets to be mended & then used to stay warm. our heart quivers & our hands shake & the light passes across our forehead like we are being anointed with oil. the past & the future are both fearsome things, but the Man you met on the conference hall floor last may is still holding the little girl in His arms. we are going back to go forward. i am proud of you. i am proud of us. i am proud of me. we are healing. we are held.