Purple Sky | Wall of Echo

by Virginia Helzainka

Watch Purple Sky

You made me question whether my sensitivity was a flaw,
like a cracked mirror reflecting too much of my soul
You led me to think it was too much to believe
Maybe there are deeper meanings in the falling leaves
That the wind tossed the glass of sunflowers I bought you to the floor
was just a gust
but I knew it was God, telling me my heart is breaking enough
Now my love needs a stretch of the“fragile” duct tape to stay together
When you pulled away for days, partying with strangers
leaving me to hold the pieces of trust you shattered
I realized I should’ve held onto my self-respect tighter
than the expired dreams you let slip through your lips in each puff of your cigarettes.
But as the smoke blew over,
it wasn’t just the air that cleared
You gave me the distance to see
You took more than just space
When you took our chances to talk,
preferred your peace over our connection’s grace
you left our words unspoken, floating in silent disgrace.
In the quiet that followed,
in the hollow of my heart, expanded from grasping for more air,
I began to hear a whisper among the echoes of your absence.
The voices I had silenced in the name of chance and belief in who you claimed to be.
I saw my reflection not in the cracks, but in the glow of my own worth
a light that had been dimmed, but never, never extinguished.
Once blurred but now reassured,
illuminated by the beaming circle of those who stood by me,
I see the strength that lies within me all this time,
a power that neither your doubts nor your disinterest can erase.
When you spat on my reaching hands,
You took my ability to care.
You took the very essence of me:
My intuition,
My vulnerability,
My love for loving.
You diminished my appreciation for the little things,
made me doubt my awareness of pain,
even your pain,
as if trying to understand was a sin.
Almost as if you tried to dull the compassion in me,
my tenderness that sees poetry in a purple sunset sky.
Belittled, clouding the beacon I carry with Prada shades you wore,
too wrapped up to see the paths we might have walked together.
But I’ve come to reclaim what was lost in your storm
I’ve come to reclaim what’s always been mine
parts of me that shine.
You can’t take away what’s mine,
not anymore.
Because us, writers,
We don’t scream out loud
we bleed on paper.
We spell out why we trusted, why we loved,
and why, in the end,
we stand our ground.
There’s a pulse in my veins,
a drumbeat in my chest,
a steady thrum that says,
I am here-
I am here
I am proud to care
and I am enough