My grief

Grief is any interesting thing. It shows up in so many different ways.

It changes.

It morphs.

It hides.

It takes center stage.
It is confusing.

It is hard.

Articulating my grief is difficult. I struggle to explain my grief to those around me. Because poetry is my safe place, I wrote a poem about what my grief looks like as a way to reflect. This poem represents how my grief looks like 4 weeks after my daddy passed away. I am sure it will continue to evolve, to change, to morph. However, this is where my grief is today.

My grief

My grief looks like a Sunday afternoon in bed, catching up on Scandal while eating my third scone. 

My grief looks like responding, "I'm hanging in there" when I get the dreaded question "how are you?" Because I'm not convinced people can actually handle how I'm really doing.

My grief looks like word vomit. Talking about my dad is inevitable because it is always at the forefront of my mind. 

My grief looks like the thick fog on my morning commute. Slowing me down & making it hard to move, to be productive. 

My grief looks like pain. Heartache so heavy that I have not found a word in the English language to accurately articulate it. 

My grief looks like keeping myself busy to avoid dealing with the grief that encompasses me. 

My grief looks like numbness. Sometimes not feeling anything. Moving through life with an emptiness. 

My grief looks like anger. Rage deeper than the Pacific Ocean.

My grief looks like happiness. Finding joy in the mundane of life. 

My grief looks like good days. Days where possibilities seem achievable. Days where I believe, I can continue.

My grief looks like sadness. 

My grief looks like hope.

My grief looks like despair. 

My grief looks like a journey I will be on forever.