1995 Poetry

My youngest son was going through my cedar chest and found a poem I wrote that got published in a college anthology and performed during the final presentation. I’ve been looking for it awhile so I could share how this pain has been going on so long.

Time’s Actress

The very time that changed the seasons, the years. the eras

Has changed me.

For Good?

Or Evil?

I do not know

I am no longer a Gerber baby.

I am no longer an innocent schoolgirl.

I am no longer a naïve adolescent.

I do not spit up on unsuspecting relatives.

I do not play hopscotch on sunny Days

And I do not believe every man is perfect.

— Lover or not —

I don’t remember being a baby.

I rarely ponder on my childhood.

In my adolescence I remember much more.

I remember being spoiled.

I remember being deprived more.

I remember the love of my mother.

I remember the silence of my father.

I remember happiness but only vaguely.

I remember living every moment of the depression.

I remember the friends.

I remember the name calling.

I remember envisioning the gun.

I remember pulling the trigger.

I remember the pain that did not come from the gun of a sick child’s desire.

Time melts old pains with new ones, and

Time does not heal any of my wounds.

I have found that I have needs

I have wants

I have dreams

I need love

I want success

I dream of death

Not often

But enough to wonder

Would it be better?

No one understands my pain.

I ache

So much some days I can barely function.

And no one knows.

The perfect Actress

The toughest part

Is to be the shadow of the happy me.


I was seventeen when I wrote that. And to think my pain is no better. I hope my son reads it so he knows I understand but he doesn’t seem interested in it. I probably wouldn’t at his age either.


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