A Poet’s Prayer: The Tension Between Joy & Pain

You know I wanna think you don’t care

You know I wanna question if you’re really there

But I’ve seen you

I’ve seen you move through the rhythm of the winds

as the fall breaks through the bricks of summer.

Through the questions in my head

that get answered without a say

I’ve seen you exist in the palpitations in my chest

The way you rock me to sleep

when I won’t let me rest.

But I still find myself praying that you hear me.

I’ve spent so long wanting to be heard

by the big people

the mommys and daddies.

I still pray that you hear the hurt people,

the me of the bunch,

smiling and flowing,

waiting til the next second alone,

where I can throw a punch.

God, how can I be happy but hurt like this?

My heart feels like it’s breaking

until I get lost in a kiss.

In the arms of the man

you designed exclusively for me,

rub my hands through his locks

now I’m remembering I’m free.

As I hold his babies that I bore,

they look in my eyes,

and I forget the past even more.

Eventually, it finds me again

when Mommy needs a mommy

and wifey needs a daddy.

It hits me again.

When the television talks about parents,

then it hits me.

When I still smell mommy’s scent,

but it doesn’t match the “mommy” I knew,

but the “mommy” that’s new.

And I remember

that I can’t tell the difference.

Been wanting one of them

to nurture me for a long time.

I’ve felt like a burden ever since.

Ooouu, the pain just left.

My babies are downstairs playing with daddy.

The joy in their laughs

reminds me that I’m happy.

But I’m happy…now.

My past is where my sadness lies.

Now the lies pour into my future

when I see a different family in my eyes.

So this is a poet’s prayer.

Lord, I’m praying you hear my heart

through this rhythm.

God, I ask that you stand in the gap

when my heart skips a beat.

Just because I’m happy now

doesn’t mean I don’t cry in my sleep.

When my subconscious gets left with the memory,

it’s like mad money,

and I’m the one caught shredding the money,

trying to do away with the visions of a life

back when I tried to do it all without Christ.

So this is a poet’s prayer.

Hear me roar through the metaphors.

For who I was is never again,

and who I am is forever more.

-Amelia Renee’

Photo by: Max Foster