The Help

My job is to wait for a calling. Help those who have no one at all and then fall back when I’ve helped enough. Falling back hurts though, but what else am I supposed to do when my mouth is tired of talking.
 I get tired of people and become robotic. Unable to function because there are daggers in my chest and if I move too fast my heart will bleed. I silence myself for protection. It’s called the silent treatment for a reason. it’s the best remedy for a poet with a sharp mouth piece. 

People will show you when they want you to shut up; so don’t speak. Silence Can be filled with inner turmoil or  peace. Lately it’s been a war between both entities. Not  being able to speak with the ones you love is appalling. Bodies depart but the essence of love remains.

 I have no control over where the lord places me, and obedience is a charm of mines, so I adapt to my placement perfectly. I was reliable, patient, loving and kind. I sacrificed for my sisters. I watched faulty circumstances crumble free-spirited women. I cared for the children. I bent my back for those who were broken from bending.

 A listening ear and a swaying sword to seize the tongue of whispering demons. I watched their circumstances change as their strength was regained. I caught subtle signs that my service was no  longer needed. The only thing that pisses me off about the departure is the shots thrown at me, aiming  Straight for my love piece. 

I love with no limitations, and put myself in a box, cutting off the life line to my own aspirations.Some people don’t seek  the integrity of independence and  become  complacent in their ignorance. They don’t realize that it was never in my description to mend wounded hearts or repair broken souls; that job is done by God alone. 


My job description was the “help’’ not the healer.