You want me to do what?

My heart was heavy,

soul distant and remote.

I longed to reach out,

remove each brick

from the aching wall.

it...mysteriously,

did not allow,

others in..or...out. 

Even I, lived in denial

of it's foreboding shadows. 

I knew life does not crumble,

in a day

yet what can we do,

when hope seems dim from view.

Death spoke soothing to my soul.

In it's midst, I looked about,

I could never hurt my family so harshly.

A grief counselor presented a task.

Huge pile of bricks, black marker, and lone backpack.

Upon each brick

I was to write 

the name of each person, event, or thought.

Mortar's painful memories cast upon

my languished heart.

Assignment given, completed and written.

Wear this heavy pack,

for one solid week.

Not as easy as I hoped.

I arrived the following week,

twenty minutes early,

eager to release

the souls, events, and hurt.

I flipped the flap of that backpack,

with energy and might.

Despite my aching shoulders,

and loud verbal complaint.

Out...out....out...

I let you go,

or I forgive,

or I'm  not ready yet,

you must go back inside,

until I have a "change" of heart.

The following week

my spirit's are light.

Comedy seems funny,

and people are oddly inviting.

Icecream is eaten without guilt or worry.

My little brother even seems a little charming.

I wanted to go have some fun

hear some music

shake my booty and dance.

Slap on hot black thigh highs

and get my hair re-done.   

You see, I did not know

What was lurking...

hidden from sight

a sweet sweet soul

yearning to be freed

to tear down each brick

scrape away

what I thought

was mortars relief. 

Suicide was not for me. 

How heavy....

is your pack.