Grief used to grab me like a predator in the night.
I never saw her coming–trapped at her mercy.
She’d punch me in the stomach, hang on my shoulders,
and stir my thoughts like cocoa into milk.
My heart jiggled like Jello-O.
I felt weak and I didn’t care,
like a heavy person ordering a pizza.
I accepted Grief’s pressure.
Better than the strain on the faces of people
who fake fine, but everyone else sees
their emotional limp.
I didn’t want that limp, so I gave in:
Go ahead, pummel me, Grief.
She beat me severely.
Over time, her fists tired.
I passed through the pain,
like holding pigeon pose in yoga.
First, the scream. Then, the release.
Today, Grief swaggered in my direction.
She set herself upon inhabiting my space.
But, in this moment, she didn’t intimidate me.
I didn’t resist.
I breathed into my grief.
She passed me by like the wind.
2 thoughts on “How I Took on the Bully Grief.”
It’s lovely the way poetry releases us into the arms of acceptance through detail and metaphor! Very nice, Alice! You tell so much, without telling…the energy here is so alive!
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Your response to my writing is lovely and relished.