Fools

Poem from the upcoming release, “Broken People”  ©Lisa Hagan Books, 2016

It bothered him I had secrets he knew about, and even more he didn’t.

He wasn’t the one, after all those many years, I felt like giving my secrets virginity to, scorching his ego more than how I secretly laughed at, and loathed, his thirty-second erections.

I am the fool, because I stay. It is enough.

Treating me that way, the only way he knows but doesn’t see, twisting his thorny truths to fit flat in his palm of lies.

I am the fool because he stays. He is enough.

No, I don’t want to listen anymore! I can’t hear what will happen, what might change, meaningless letters dripping from his tongue, digging into my skin. Decades of faith lost inside my bones, I gasp at the sharp, messy realization of my mistake.

I loved him. Something so simple becomes so terribly complicated. I believed in him, and then I didn’t. Left to right, right to left, up and down, down and up, marching marching marching through endless days. Opposites attract until they collide and atoms smash, leaving behind an explosive mess of ashes and pain.

But we didn’t explode. It was more a quiet implosive retreat, patiently gathering my forces and wits, strategically placing every moment on my hidden board of fools, waiting, biding, holding each breath, pushing down every bitter verbal volley until I could finally, finally say it: leave.

I don’t want your noise
your clutter
your patronizing cuts
your condescension
your hands that touch me without feeling
your eyes that don’t see
your ears that don’t hear
your mouth that interrupts
your arms that don’t fold me in
your lies you believe
your lies you can’t see
your lies you don’t hear
your stories that have become so real to you
you don’t even realize they never happened
your lies
your lies
your lies.

These were the secrets I held, and still hold, not for him, not against him, not because of him. No matter how long we are with one partner, we still have a secret inner life, desires that sustain us, folded up like paper hearts hidden in the deepest pockets of our souls. We fear the unfolding for what it will show, the razing it may cause, the cozy veneer of lies it burns away.

Fooling myself no longer.

I am enough.

 

Rachel Thompson

Rachel Thompson is represented by literary agent Lisa Hagan and is published by ShadowTeamsNYC. She is the author of the award-winning, bestselling Broken Places (one of IndieReader’s “Best of 2015” top books and 2015 Honorable Mention Winner in both the Los Angeles and the San Francisco Book Festivals), and the bestselling, multi-award-winning Broken Pieces as well as two additional humor books, A Walk In The Snark and Mancode: Exposed. She owns BadRedhead Media, creating effective social media and book marketing campaigns for authors. Her articles appear regularly in The Huffington Post, The San Francisco Book Review (BadRedhead Says…), Feminine Collective, IndieReader.com, 12Most.com, bitrebels.com, BookPromotion.com, and Self-Publishers Monthly, Not just an advocate for sexual abuse survivors, Rachel is the creator and founder of the hashtag phenomenon #MondayBlogs and the live weekly Twitter chats, #SexAbuseChat, co-hosted with certified therapist/survivor, Bobbi Parish (Tuesdays, 6 pm PST/9pm EST), and #BookMarketingChat, co-hosted with author assistant Melissa Flickinger (Wednesdays, 6 pm PST/9pm EST). She hates walks in the rain, running out of coffee, and coconut. She lives in California with her family.

7 thoughts on “Fools

  1. Wendy GarfinkleWendy Garfinkle Reply

    Love this piece, Rachel – which you know already. 😉

    Favorite lines:
    “…meaningless letters dripping from his tongue, digging into my skin.”
    “Opposites attract until they collide and atoms smash…”
    “…desires that sustain us, folded up like paper hearts hidden in the deepest pockets of our souls…”

    Such beautiful, evocative imagery. It’s a pleasure to read (and edit) your words, my dear friend. 🙂

  2. Jackie CioffaJackie Cioffa Reply

    Rachel,

    I held my breath all the way through, and then I read it again afraid to breathe.
    This piece is so well executed, such brutal truth I am proud to know you, and am inspired and elevated. Thank you for owning your craft, and your ability to write the hard truths.

    Thank you, friend.

    Jackie

    This passage hit home for me, and is exquisite…

    “But we didn’t explode. It was more a quiet implosive retreat, patiently gathering my forces and wits, strategically placing every moment on my hidden board of fools, waiting, biding, holding each breath, pushing down every bitter verbal volley until I could finally, finally say it: leave.”

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