He Called Me Belle

He Called Me Belle

Though that was not my name
It was, to him.
And so I answered him
Though that was not my name

In quiet times, in empty rooms
I danced through his mind
In troubled moments I was panic to him

or was I the calm?  I was both.

I was loved but not freely or purely
What he sought but could not handle
A masterpiece without a museum
A song that was sung without an audience
The answer key to the test he had already turned in and failed

He was a child with his beloved toy
he broke it, and he cried when he saw what he had done
Raging at the world for his own carelessness
Though the fault lay with him
And despite his sadness he had done it just the same
And with him lay the fault

But I am not a toy
I am majestically real, more than he could believe
I am nurturing,
I am a gentle weeping willow offering shade beneath her branches
I am anger,
Red fire crackling, dancing across the leaves of the same tree
a mad dance of heat and smoke burning myself to the ground
I am soothing,
Waves lapping gently against the white sand beach
But with the storm 
I am fury,
Ragged undertow against jagged rocks
I am the beauty of a sunset, a dance of colors shifting as they say goodbye
Melting into a star lit sky

I have loved him furiously
Gently, kindly, tenderly, openly
Have shown him the depths and boundaries of forgiveness
He did not earn but I offered

He loved me quietly but proudly
He could not stand by my side so he offered me a pedestal
But all I sought was an outstretched hand.
He loved me intensely, sheepishly
He adored when he should have embraced

I was so very real to him in the moments shared
But also a dream he woke up from over and over
And yet so ephemeral dancing in and out of his life
A firefly blinking just out of grasp
The petals of dandelions hugged by the passing wind
Though his perception of movement was wrong
I did not move, I was the constant
The flower resting in the sun
The movement, the chaos was him
The wasp buzzing around the perfect stillness of the Rose

Though I thought I broke him
He was broken long ago
He is fear and terror and confusion
The teapot that shrieks only once the boiling pressure is too much

I have healed him
But he does not heal himself, picking at scabs of the wounds I tried to soothe
He was hidden wounds, festering.

Though I thought he broke me
I am not broken
I am bruised by lies
I am battered by deceit
The taste of blood on my mouth, lips stained red from callousness
The sight of his shame brings anger tinged with sadness

But unbroken

For he called me Belle
And I did not answer him
Because that was not my name
Though it was to him