The future of heartbreak

“How do you keep your heart whole?” he asked. “I can’t bear the breaking.”

“You don’t,” she whispered. “Let it crack open,

like a ruby pomegranate full of moments you have been alive.
Tear away the soft sides, let the jeweled pieces scatter.

They will be found.  Picked up by the parched,
carried forward into days where hearts
will be strong enough to break, expand.”

“I am not that strong.” he said, shaking his head.

Tearing off a part of her own heart.

“Take some of my mine, you will be.”

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

#Loveuary – share the love this month with But I Smile Anyway…

You took the colors with you.

When the last leaf has fallen,

and I am left on my own,

my sorrow will have no company.

You took the colors with you.


You took the colors with you,

my questions left alone in the air.

Bleached silence, no reply.


I gave away too much again, 

White walls with no solutions,

an empty palette in my hands. 

© Ali Grimshaw

After I posted the above poem printed in red. The Original Phoenix asked me this question, “How do you find the new colors?”  What a wonderful question to consider. Today I dedicate this expanded poem to her for inspiring me to dig deeper and bring the rest to life. Although I still didn’t answer her question, I continue to ponder it. Thank you! Check out her blog, CONFESSIONS OF A REBORN GIRL.  Never underestimate the power of offering feedback.  We all need each other.




Sunlight’s Condolences

Sometimes sunlight falls on your window.

beams of warmth flood in even if undeserving.

The only needed action, opening the curtains.

My window doesn’t offer me any favors this morning.

It is my neighbor’s turn to be touched by light,

her sobs echoing through the wall, my

contentment in the weather offering up support

I don’t know how to give.

No one should be alone in grief

without warmth from another.

© Ali Grimshaw

This poem was inspired by the Pic And A Word Challenge – Windows #64

The Pic and a Word Challenge is a weekly creativity prompt offered on Sunday mornings.


Exiting The Maze

She could think about something else

a distraction from the pain

another new form of an old approach,

all temporary fixes,

that will return her to the same spot in the maze.

Unfortunately familiar torment.

Hands clenched to aching,

nails biting skin,

jaw clenched.

Her body’s defiance to the status quo.

Suffering unnoticed by a hurried world.

“Not this time.” She whispers. “This time

I will make my own exit.”

© Alicia Grimshaw 2016