She told me her plan is to wait
a couple week’s before confronting her devil
in a personal fight promising emotions and explosions.
I thought about saying to her,
you know that is only going to hurt you worse, right?
before choosing silence over foregone conclusions.

Was this not the same kind of plan
that I have repeatedly used in my own battles
to put my whole self, body and soul, into the action?
I’ve poured my heart out in great purgings
at the feet of people given power over me,
getting nothing but answers of the sorry, can’t help ya variety.

Such moments are paragons of devastation,
your most precious treasures shattered on the floor
like every belief you thought would see you through.
All the blood draining from the wounds you make
so that another can see the deepest, truest you,
and all they bring is salt.

But then comes the slow march of blessings,
the kind that may stay invisible for some time
while you pick the pieces of yourself off the floor.
If you’re committed to your happiness,
each piece will snap back into place with a you’re better than them sound
because you know how you would love if roles were reversed.

So I hold my tongue until I understand my words
enough to only use them as a warning,
leaving her to make her choice about what move is best for her.
Because my own experiences with my greatest adversaries
has taught me what terrible price comes from healing these wounds,
that freedom from devils means killing the part of yourself that’s trapped.