Tag Archives: heartbreak




See that rabbit run, across the lane and field,

to or from something, maybe spurred by fear,

could be imagined,


Could be real, unlike us, a total fabrication.

There will be no violation of intimacy in this

decade or the next; hope is a balloon inflated

one breath too far.



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The Girdling Root – Flash Fiction



I’m feeling a bit experimental in my writing. The following has no dialogue and the sentences are long. I see it more as an exercise for exploring a future character and perhaps using some of it for that purpose. What do you think? And, while we’re on the subject – do you jot out character sketches in an attempt to get to know your characters better?

The Girdling Root

Once root girdling takes hold of a tree, suffocation and death are imminent unless the extreme decision to remove the offending root takes place. The specimen may succumb to death even with the procedure, most assuredly if nothing is done.

At first, I thought I’d had a stroke or a heart attack. In a way, I suppose it was the latter. My limbs still functioned as normal. My brain still registered date and time with the ability to recall any detail it so wished within reason of a ‘normal’ 48-year-old female. The problem wasn’t the body or the mind. The problem was the heart. Pain, alternating with numbness, pushed through weakened spots between heartbeats, grabbing hold, suffocating the source of oxygen and nutrients required for proper health. A doctor was of no use; however, the damage begged for repair.

Heartbreak is a fickle disease; one that requires constant monitoring, else irreversible damage may lay waste to any individual who harbors the ailment. As with a heart attack, once a piece of the heart actually dies, there is no repair of the dead area. If no treatment is secured for what remains, hope for survival wanes with every passing day. What of a transplant? No such convenience for the heartbroken I’m afraid.

I chose the path of so many. I ignored the symptoms for as long as possible until my breath caught at my own stabbing foolishness. No other option but to open my chest for examination. Ugly, regrettable and useless pandering to the emotion of grief that served no purpose settled into a lifeless area of impending necrosis. It was do or die time.

Accepting the void left where another once held court daily proved a vicious exercise of my recovery, but a necessary one. Recognizing that the risk was worth the potential reward, I cut away the offending root of my grief that served no purpose but to strangle my happiness.

I am now like the grasping, growing, forward-seeking roots of a maple tree forcing their way through unyielding sod, seeking new ground to explore. If I should, once again, encounter the pain of a broken heart, I will seek out the girdling root and I will cut it off before it threatens my existence. I will cut it off, and I will thrive, for I will not be suffocated by grief ever again.


—-The most I learned about this character came at the end of this writing exercise –  I thought she was guided by her need to heal and be whole, but that wasn’t the case after all. It seems she was guided by survival at any cost.—-

PhotoPin: photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/wrathie/807388728/”>Antero Sivonen</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Balanced Diet



Do not offer me dessert,

I need more than a temporary high;

I seek to be well fed


I’ve worn broken bones,

Suffered broken dreams

I’ve lost myself to a broken heart,

Recovered to let myself go again


Into that place where trust becomes

A dagger pushing into the deepest places,

Testing resistance, the breath catches


Bleed tears that flow

Until they dam

Against promises, hushed whispers, sentimental feelings


Your smile, pressed into my existence,

Your dreams intertwined with mine

Your love, a healing balm, soothing the

Ache of a soul on fire


Layers of seduction form within a

Palette desiring gratifying flavors

My appetite is whet…


Do not offer me dessert



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Cold Reality


deciduous trees,forests,nature,Photographs,pictures,plants,seasons,snowfalls,weather,winter

Slip into a winter’s dream

My pillow is a mound of snow

My blanket, snowflakes, soft and clean

The ground is firm, icy greens above

Warm are the worms below


Tear-filled eyes slowly freeze

Black lashes open to the sky

My body, its secrets, seek reprieve

Painful is the grip that holds the heart,

Those memories of you and I


Spring comes, long is the wait

The snows melt, water trickles downhill

My body exposed, found too late

Feeding from me, the creatures underground

At least now, you never will


(Image courtesy of Microsoft Clipart)

A Fragile Pirate


Sailing ship used for transportation

She’s come undone, in that way women do

      when the light has left the day and
    she’s had a drink or two.

She’ll unsheathe a dull sword on memories,

    broken destinies and unwanted sympathies.

Nothing can soothe this grief,

      a shot of bourbon withholds relief,
    coursing down her throat its warmth is too brief.

Tears cannot fall from eyes of lies,

    bitterness bound, even though she tries

Dammit! Must she seek approval to live her own life?

Bottoms up, one more to find that drunken shore,

    release her sails for a land of plenty

Her treasures aren’t in things or diamond rings

    or men whose promises are empty.

The Convenient Woman


by Sheila R. Pierson

The Convenient Woman makes herself available to a man

He’ll say he loves her, but she needs to understand

He wants her like mad when he wants her

Only gives her a passing thought when he doesn’t

She must give him time alone

And leave him in peace when he’s at home

He doesn’t want his family disturbed by her

Doesn’t want his wife to know

Doesn’t want to look bad to his kids

She mustn’t call or text or give show

The Convenient Woman is foolish with her heart

She gives it away to him to break

She’s open and trusting when they’re apart

Until his intentions are proven to be fake

She lives in mourning over her stupidity

Breaking like glass in a state of fragility

She feels like a used rag doll made from scraps

Stitched together by an amateur crafter’s hands 

He’ll say he loves her, and she’ll say she understands.

Once Broken by Sheila Pierson


She slogged through each day, tripping over the pieces of her broken heart, scattered about every room, every open space, every corner of hidden darkness. She couldn’t turn away from the truth; she couldn’t run far enough. The fact is, he made his choice and it wasn’t her.

She sipped red wine after lunch and into the evening, an escape that was temporary at best. She wrote, dribblings of emotions, tangential arrangements of the discourse she felt. She sought further refuse in her drink. It did not come.

A friend’s words echoed through her mind, “Live your truth.”

Time forced itself upon her. Summer ended abruptly and autumn passed without her notice. As morning arrived on a snow-covered landscape she watched each uniquely beautiful swirling flake, realizing their very existence begins and ends with their fall. That was it – that was her truth – accepting the heartbreak, allowing herself to fall.

Without seeking it, without even a whisper of hope for it, another, the ‘one’ as it were, discovered the trail of her heart’s remnants and gathered them up in his pocket. His careful hands crafted each piece one back to the other, sealing the frayed edges with his love. With boldness, he presented his offering to her – she accepted, now restored.