Earthquake

I cannot be the one.

Dropping this bomb,
swinging the hammer,
unleashing a wrecking ball on everything they know and take comfort in.

I want them to know. I want to know how they feel, what they think, what they want.

But knowing is the very thing that cannot be undone. Words cannot be unheard.

I cannot unleash the tidal wave of emotion that will overcome them upon knowing.  I do not want to be that thing that affects a complete shifting of the very ground beneath their feet.

If he is a hurricane, a storm that blows then is calm, a tornado that touches down and wreaks havoc; I do not want to be the earthquake that shakes them at their core.

I am trying to be a tree. A pillar of strength, something stable and life-giving.
But this tree cannot weather such storms for too much longer.

Broken

I have often fantasized about his death. Nothing that I have caused. A careless truck driver. A fire.
Then a knock at the door and sympathetic eyes. A secret small silent sigh of relief. And release.

Freedom.

Don't misunderstand. The violence that is, is generally directed at inanimate objects and walls.  But don't underestimate the toll it takes on you after years of watching harmless objects, possessions, sometimes treasures, fly around the room becoming victims of a rage
and
representing the shrapnel of a broken relationship.
Broken heart.

Maybe a broken mind.