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.
The very time that changed the seasons, the years. the eras
Has changed me.
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
But enough to wonder
Would it be better?
No one understands my pain.
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.