Leaves Beneath Your Feet

Sometimes the harsh crunch

of leaves beneath your feet

can make you realize

just how fragile life is.

 

Something once full of life

and service to give

now falls from the top

and withers away to nothing.

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Not My Job

I am suffocating in your guilt.

I didn’t get you into this mess.

I didn’t cause this to happen,

but yet I’m stuck dealing

with your consequences.

It’s not my job to be your pity party.

It’s not my job to make you feel better.

It’s not my job to make you less lonely.

Stop making it sound like it is.

I have a real job

with actual responsibilities.

I don’t have the time

or energy really to

deal with your constant guilt trips.

I’ll tell you what I tell the kids:

I don’t do tears,

Man up and get your shit together.

Stop suffocating me with YOUR problems.

I have enough of my own.

 

Throw Me a Bone

I feel like a dog from a cartoon

with a bone dangling in front of my face.

It’s right there.

I can see it.

If I wanted to, I could reach out

and grab it.

I could have everything I ever wanted.

But I can’t.

The second I get too greedy

and try to take it before it’s given,

it will be riped away from me.

It’s so hard.

It’s so tempting.

It’s right freaking there.

Sometimes, it’s like the bone is

purposely pushed closer to my face,

making it so hard to ignore

just to test my limits.

I can’t tell you how many nights

I’ve been up late crying because

I want nothing more than to take

this freaking bone that’s in my face.

It’s so obvious that I want it

and it seems so obvious that I can have it,

but every time I get to confident

and try to go for it,

it disappears.

And I’m left empty,

punished, for falling for the bait.

Why do you put me through this?

Why do you torture me so?

Just throw me the god damn bone

or throw it fucking out.

I can’t handle it anymore.

 

Control

I like to believe that I am in control.

That I am independent.

I mean I worked my ass off for a degree

by myself.

I saved up for 5 years and bought a car

by myself.

I have a good paying part-time job

by myself.

I’m looking for a big girl career now

by myself.

But yet no matter how what I do

to make myself feel like

an accomplished adult

I will always be trapped.

For I may have a degree,

a car,

a job,

but you will always make sure

that you still control

some small piece of my life

so that I always have to come back

to this horrid place.

You will always keep me dependent

so that I can never escape,

even though this atmosphere is toxic

and is killing me; suffacting me

making my accomplishments

as worthless as myself.

Go Out Walking

Every day I  go out walking

miles and miles of trails that wind

hoping, and praying,

to leave myself behind.

I’m looking for a new me,

one I can face in the mirror

because now all I can see

is someone far inferior.

Sometimes I think it’s working;

that all the struggles are worth it.

I  do everything correctly,

but nothing has changed a bit.

No matter how hard I work,

no matter how hard I strive

I’m greeted by the same person

at the end when I arrive.

Too Many Times

Too many times in the course of history

woman have been told to sit back and be quiet:

the men are talking.

 

Too many times in the course of history

woman have been told their opinions are cute,

but it’s the men’s who count.

 

Too many times in the course of history

woman have been told to stop talking

because the men don’t agree.

 

Too many times in the course of  my history

I have been told my opinions don’t matter,

by men of course,

simply because I see the world through a different lens

and thank God I do

because someone has to look out for someone

other than themselves.

 

The Rose

Today I will tell you the story

of a delicate rose who’s life

did not turn out as planned.

The Rose was planted in a garden

with hundreds of other roses.

Of course, she was not the prettiest.

She was plumper than the others

had a blemish or two on her petals,

and had a few extra thorns

to keep herself safe,

yet she believed in the same dream

as all the other roses:

that for someone she would be enough.

The Rose had spent many waking hours

hoping and dreaming of the day

when just the right person would

come along and choose her.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be picked

by just anyone walking by.

She wanted to be picked by someone

who would love her,

cherish her, adore her,

and take care of her until

her final day because, after all,

you can only be picked once.

She was fiercely determined to have

this dream come true more than any

other she had ever had.

But one day, a stranger came along

and right away she knew that he

was up to no go. He smelled of death.

She prayed as he began to slowly

examine each rose around her

that he would pick someone else

or hopefully, none at all so that

she and her neighbors could

all have their dreams fulfilled.

Unfortunately this evil stranger

set his devastating eyes on her.

Despite her begging and pleading

to be left alone, to not be picked,

he yanked her from the earth

aggressively, and against her will.

When the stranger picked  up The Rose,

he was pricked by many of her extra thorns

and threw her aside with disgust.

Sadly, The Rose was left plucked

and tossed to the side of the path

But still The Rose hoped that maybe,

someday, the right person would

come along and still be able to love

a rose that has already been plucked.

Alas, each day newer, kinder strangers

came into the garden and stepped over her

in search for a flower that

still had yet to be plucked.

The Rose continued to hold on,

holding in her heart a belief

that a truly good person

would come along and see

all the beauty she had to offer

to the world, even though she

had been damaged against her will.

One day, shortly after,

a man walked into the garden.

In The Rose’s heart, she knew with

almost as much certainty about this man

as she had had that the stranger that

had picked her was here to bring trouble,

that this new man was the one

she was intended to spend her life with.

This was the man who would take care of her

and appreciate her for the rest of her time.

He walked kindly through the flowers

and respected each and every one.

When he came to the Rose, simply

tossed aside, he bent over to pick her up.

The Rose’s heart beat with excitement

thinking that maybe, just maybe

she could still find happiness

and her dream could come true.

The man gave the rose a pitiful look

and said ” What a wonderful rose.

If only someone hadn’t already plucked you.

I only want a rose that I can pick for myself.”

With that, he laid the rose down delicately

amongst the other flowers

and picked a fresh, beautiful flower nearby.

The Rose’s heart fell.

She knew that this man here today

was her destiny: if only he had come

a week sooner, before her tragic event.

Then maybe, just maybe, life could

have worked out in her favor.

Instead, she lays amongst dirt and roots,

hidden by flowers still full of life and hope,

withering away to dried leaves and petals

waiting for the life to leave her worthless body

hoping that maybe in her next life

things will turn out better.