Weary Hands

She slammed the door closed in her car and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
She would not cry damn it, no she would not.
She would not sit in the parking lot and cry over someone who could care less.
Good Goddess all of this made her into some tormented, demented little thing and it really incensed her.
Sniffing loudly she stared at her hands on the steering wheel, at her white knuckles as she got herself under control.
Her heart was exhausted. Her soul mournful. Her mind overwhelmed. Her body felt achy.
Overall she felt unloved and unwanted. It demoralized her to the point where she was now not just fearful it shifted to a very hostile attitude.
Another deep breath and she closed her eyes.
Keep calm and let the tension slowly drain away.

She opened her eyes and then glanced at her ipad.
Grabbing it she felt the words start to build and she needed to let them out.'

The blog.

She had no one to talk to so this way she could get these feelings out of her soul.
She felt alienated and so inadequate.
This had to stop. My hell it had to end now because she could not justify these feelings anymore.

She logged into her blog and began to write.

Weary hands and heavy hearts be still

Swollen eyes and stolen breath be still.

Shaking skin and soul sick sighs be still.

Unheld glances and untouched fingers be still.

Be still.

She stared at her writing and it blurred before her eyes.
Tears streamed down her face and she let them flow unchecked.

She needed joy in her life and only she could give it to herself.