It was more than I could take,

I could see it in the photos- from the red, teary face.

I was three, and I was in grief- I’d been woken up too rashly.

And it had been more than I could take.

 

So I’d let the tears flow, time do its job.

Cleanse my palette clean of damage and begin the art once more.

I could take it, then.

 

It was more than I could take, 

When I kicked my brother to what I thought was an instant death,

I cried then, my scream tangled with his shrieks of agony,

I was seven, I’d just learnt the pain of guilt-

And it was more than I could take.

 

So the tears flowed, time did its wonders,

Soon enough we were fighting with spoons and scissors.

I could take it, then.

 

 

 

It was more than I could take when I heard of my grandpa’s demise.

It was more than I could take when I heard my grandma had followed him.

It was more than I could take each time and every time tears did their miracles.

Each time, time was there to stitch and save me.

Each time I learnt the ache of a new grief, each time it turned into muscle memory.

 

It is more than I can take,

Losing a part of life I thought was there to stay,

But now I know what I have to do-

 

Curl up in silence, roll into the loneliness,

Let the knots in my stomach weigh me down,

Let the tears flow, let the time pass,

Let some magic and miracles occur and things get darned back together.

(Art inspired by drawingartistic.com)