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.
I am a hindrance.
I feel it in my bones.
In my mind
I walk like a ghost trying so hard to be real
At every corner lies a hindrance to my dreams
Money fame love acceptance
Beyond my reach
When will I let these wants go and be at peace?
Gingerly I sit and contemplate life
Is it worth living?
The fact is I’m not sure
Gingerly I lay and dream of death
My fear of the unknowing keeps me here
The fear of not existing is greater then death
Gingerly I wait for relief
It is ever evasive
Medication takes the edge off but is no cure
Why can’t we have a cure sweet radiation would be welcomed
Gingerly I wait to live another day
If you could peek inside my mind
Would you run away or be kind?
I don’t like to be there
But it’s all I have
Day in and day out
It’s always a grind
So maybe you shouldn’t peek inside my mind
I’m sitting here waiting for my son to get his tooth filled. Not sure if it’s the wasted time and anger kind of anxiety or sitting in a room full of strangers and feeling alone anxiety. I know it’s a dash of passing the bill as I don’t get paid until the thirtieth and I don’t have the money to pay the bill. Not looking forward to that conversation. Plus worked called and there is more drama I have to deal with tomorrow. It doesn’t even involve me but I got dragged into it. Ugh. I really wish I could afford a less stressful job.
Another randomness is this poem it fits bipolar perfectly and so eloquently. I wish I could write that well.
Do you have any poets to suggest I read?