My Father has always told me not to trust my feelings

feelings don’t make sense, he would grumble

smelling of booze and old cigarettes.

His words resonate.

          they don’t make sense

Figments of my imagination,

standing alone.

But these feelings,

my feelings,

although not tangible

are here.

They plead to be heard

understood.

Feelings

bury themselves in depths of my mind,

festering.

Trapped.

They scream to be heard,

to be validated.

Vindicated.

Unnoticed they turn to anger

despair.

The tip of my pin flutters around the page,

breathing positive life into those feelings.

They come to the light and open themselves up to their truth.

And in this act, She is healed.