I’m on my own in a room of plenty,
reminiscing something I don’t want to.
These people here only care for themselves
and not all of the things they put me through.
It gets to the point I must be silent
to keep intact some of my sanity.
For if I loose my mind here in this room
and speak poisonous words, profanity,
I will never recover what is lost
from the relationships that have been strained.
My heart long since barricaded within,
it’s no longer able to be obtained.
I think often upon the night we fell.
The sorrow that escaped my eyes
had dripped down my cheek
and poisoned my lips to tell lies.
It seems to me that pain exists
so that we create more
to torture our souls before death,
the reality we bargained for.
You told me that you loved me,
and I did not believe it so,
For if you truly loved me,
You would not leave me in woe.
Now, today in agony I sit
and ponder upon this mess.
The truth is I dont know anymore,
my hopes are becoming less.
The question I ask burns within:
How can we find our way?
By defining our tomorrow?
From learning our yesterday?
The dawn breaks my empty gaze,
and my horrid train of thought.
We dont want to fight anymore,
but this war we already fought.
We can’t take back what we said,
because we cannot change the past.
But If we cannot change for the future,
There is no chance that we will last.
You used to love making the truth hazy
so that everyone thought I was crazy
when no one else was around
I now have to put up a wall
and be prepared for the fall
when you once again let me down
It’s my fault for every time
I believe you’d change on a dime
when you say your proud to see.
You make my achievements your own,
you hop into the spotlight all alone
and forget it was about me.
You make it out like you did the work,
with a simple gesture and a sly smirk,
so that everyone would know
by pushing me far out of the way
without giving me a chance to say
I will no longer live in the shadow.
But it took me a moment longer
to know just how much stronger
I can still be on my own
And so I won’t wait for a chance
for the opportunity to advance
to the next milestone.
At the end of the day,
I no longer care what you say
about what made me me.
Because I know the truth inside.
Who I am will provide
to set me free.
There comes a point in all our lives
When we reach the age of truth.
Where they ask what we plan to do
with the remainder of our lives.
As they always do.
In these moments you will learn,
Who truly believed in you, the individual,
And who never cared about your future
if it does not fit into their design.
As they always do.
I have reached this vital milestone,
at the edge of my graduation.
I, one of few to make it four years
but still they show it’s not good enough.
As they always do.
They ask me what I plan to do now,
Not because they care but as a test,
To see if I am worthy to keep around,
As something for them to brag about.
As they always do.
But when I won’t give such satisfaction,
And say only that I plan to write,
They must ask further questions,
when I will no longer answer.
As they always do.
It is as I said, a test,
To see if I am worth their time,
For who could love an unpublished writer,
when they cannot profit on them themselves?
As they always do.
Ironic that it is only older generations
who ask such questions on my future,
The same generations that have failed
to provide mine with a future at all.
As they always do.
So when they give their silent nods,
The truth lies in what they do not say,
From this, I have learned to weed the garden,
For when they seek me after I bloom.
As they always do.
You walk out the door
my heart on the floor.
You do not answer
my question for you.
You say it's too much,
my heart says it's not.
You wish for a change,
my hope has faltered.
I no longer think
I can handle it.
We are nothing but broken.
But took the baby in her arms
soothed the tantrum,
calmed the hurt,
until he forgot the mother who left.
Silence.
But walked five miles to school
when the nurse called
to take the child’s hand
and carry him home.
Silence.
But skipped out on the paycheck
to hold the ice pack
against the child’s temple
over a headache.
Silence.
But ran into the school
and stood between
the child
and the bullet.
Silence.
Oh but go on,
tell me again that she
is not the “real” mother.
I dare you.
I do not fear men,
their threats
or their promises.
There isn’t much
that I wouldn’t be numb to.
I do not fear God,
should there be one.
Anything He could do
to hurt me
has already been done.
I do not fear death,
for if death means
that I will feel nothing,
then the truth is,
I am already dead.
I fear one thing,
not myself as a whole,
not even my mind,
but my greatest enemy,
my own beating heart.
I fear making the mistake
of taking a chance,
of believing in something,
or someone,
and being wrong.
I fear my own choices,
to fall in love,
to take down the barriers,
all to reach out
and be left drowning
drowning…
in my own…regret…
I did this… to myself...
When I was three I forgot the pains
that occur when a two-year-old remains.
But in the first grade a kid found out,
said my mother’s death he knew all about.
I let a few kids change my perception,
and I fell deep down into the deception.
Because a motherless child was wrong,
and a kid like that just didn’t belong.
When I was older I pushed all the kids away
‘cause I thought they wouldn’t get what I’d say.
I was frustrated that no one could understand,
I wondered why I couldn’t follow every social demand.
All these thoughts fired like bullets in my head
’til eighth grade when all I thought about was being dead.
High school was the icing on the cake
to make me feel even more like a mistake.
Until my junior year, I’ll never forget the day,
when someone finally asked me if I was okay.
One sentence made the difference between
living an invisible life and finally being seen.
It changed everything that was broken,
and something within me had awoken.
They always say you shouldn’t base yourself
on the covers of the other books on the shelf.
Inside each of those books,
is a story far greater than its looks.
But the world can’t see how much everyone
expects you to be like the rising sun.
To move beyond all of the darkness,
ignore the failures and push success.
So the truth within me I must now say
is own all that darkness before the day.
Don’t forget the one voice that was there
which only needed you to become aware.
Because if you take a deeper look,
far beyond just the cover of your book,
there may have been others with you too,
but your greatest supporter was always you.
This is the worth you’ve always had inside,
more than the need to belong being satisfied.
I wish my mom still lived to see me now
so that she would say I’m what she wanted
and that grandma was still here to “wow”
at the life I built and would have flaunted.
Yet ironically, the wretched aunt lives,
to leave me in fear of meth relapses,
with blackened hands for the torture she gives,
her toothless cackles as hope collapses.
For those in my life, I can’t help but ask
a question that haunts me late at night.
When I lie awake without my mask,
a fear comes that I no longer fight:
Will you become someone that I hate
or will I need you and be too late?
