Given to Grief

I give, for grief, a small section of my brain, to ward off the bigger comings of repressed memories that would engulf me at once if not let out slowly.

I give, for grief, a small portion of my heart, because I can’t let it go and know that there is no possibility. I’ve tried to chip away that piece, but it’s my heart. It insists on staying whole.

I give, for grief, a small whisp of my soul, loving my beloved mother who will never give me back the years she stole out of spite through a bitterness. The cities are warm in comparison to where the heart my soul lies within.

I have given, for grief, a lot should it add up. My mind, my heart, my soul, it seems to have won. And yet I will never be given to grief, for I am not my own to give.