Dear Boss

Dear boss,

I care so much for these kids,

they’re my number one priority.

They’re all our number one priorities.

I worry about them day and night,

as I am sure you do too,

but now that the dust has settled,

I have to ask (and it kills me) but

what about me?

We’re worry about the kids at home

who won’t have enough food

or be guaranteed their meals.

But what about me?

We worry about the kids at home

who need help and support

who just aren’t getting it now.

But what about me?

We worry about the kiddos at home

who have stressful circumstances

that mean success is unlikely,

but what about me?

We worry about the kids at home

who might be abused or unsafe

without trusted adults there.

But what about me?

I am a selfless person

so it pains me to be egocentric,

but we’ve done all these things

to make sure our kiddos are okay,

but what about me?

Because I’m not.

 

Your Employee.

 

 

 

 

Your Most Vulnerable

Insecurity lurks in the deepest part of you,

waiting until you are at your most vulnerable

before sinking its teeth into you.

For me, it’s when I get too comfortable;

blur the lines between my hopes and my reality.

I think If I repeat something enough,

it surely will become true with time.

That’s not always the case.

I try to love myself and make myself believe

That I am good enough and deserve to feel good

but that listen voice whispers in my ear,

when I’m at my peak; all alone:

“But actually you don’t.”

It’s poison keeps dripping, from sharp fangs.

The rolling rock gains momentum:

“You don’t deserve anything really.

You’re kidding yourself if you could ever believe

that you can ever be happy, find love, feel pleasure

because why on this earth would anyone ever choose you?”

Words can cut you worse than catching a falling blade.

You realize what you’ve done moments before

you feel the pain; see the blood.

Insecurities find ways to surprise you

and remind you that when you think you are at your strongest,

you’ve actually never been weaker.

 

I Tell Myself

I tell myself

not to worry;

everything will be fine.

But my anxiety doesn’t listen.

 

I tell myself

let them be negative.

You can still be positive.

But my anxiety doesn’t listen.

 

I tell myself

their words have no power

unless I give it to them.

But my anxiety doesn’t listen.

I tell myself

to ignore their drama;

Don’t let it affect you.

But my anxiety doesn’t listen.

 

I tell myself

to just let it go;

Move on with your life.

But my anxiety doesn’t listen.

What is in My Soul?

When you look into my soul,

and I know you do because

I can feel you there,

what is it you see?

I like to believe that there is

something beyond the darkness

I’ve been feeling for a few years now.

I like to believe I go deeper than that;

I am multidimensional.

Perhaps you see my passion,

surrounded by persistence and loyalty.

Perhaps you see the youth

that my playful heart feeds off.

Perhaps you see soft, gentle colors

that depict all the kindness

I have to offer to others.

Or maybe you see the abundance

of love and compassion that I am

just dying to share with the world.

What is in my soul?

What do you see?

Is there hope for me yet?

Or has the darkness smoothered my light?

Taking Things

I thought you were done taking things from me

when you stole my virginity 7 years ago.

But yet here we are, all these years later

and you’re still taking things from me:

My happiness

My hopes

My dreams

My soulmate

My chance of having someone love me.

I can’t have any of those things

because you ruined me; damaged me.

And now I’m so broken that

I can never have the one thing all always want.

After 7 years I finally realize

it’s never going to get better for me.

Fuck you.

 

 

What do I Want

As my undergraduate career comes to a close

in less than three weeks from today,

I’m finding that the amount of people that

are asking me what my plans are for

after I graduate is increasing substantially.

But the truth is that I really don’t have an answer

to satisfy their curious minds because

I truly don’t know what I am going to do.

Believe me: it’s more frustrating than you know.

I would love to have just one simple answer

to give upon request, but the thing is

that is so much harder to achieve than I thought.

There are so many options at my fingertips

that it is hard to pick just one to follow.

I tried on one, and decided I didn’t like it

and now I feel stuck once again.

As the world I know around me rushes to a close,

I find myself lost in the whirlwind with no direction

and it fills me with an anxiety I can’t describe.

People confront me and I don’t know what I want.

Well, I do.

It’s just not…

I don’t know: A possibility? Viable? Realistic?

It adds to my frustration even more.

I know when people ask me what’s next for me

they want information about my upcoming career,

but I guess the truth is that

that’s not what is important to me.

I have other matters of the heart and soul

to take care of first and until those are met

I can’t focus on anything else.

But my time is running out

and so is the money in my bank account.

I know I need to make a decision.

The pressure is on, but will I be a diamond?

Or will I just crumble?

Connection

A connection is defined as

a person, thing, or idea

that is linked to something else.

But yet a connection

is something far deeper;

far more complex than just that.

A connection is something that

you can feel, something you can see.

A connection is undeniable.

When two magnets have

their north and south ends near,

it is hard to deny that there will

soon be a connection

that will be difficult to pull apart

once the two objects meet.

If you hold the two magnets

in separate hands, you will feel

the magnets pulling, longing

to be connected with the other.

I am like a magnet,

the north end perhaps,

waiting for my southern half

to feel the same tugging

at their heart.

It’s bound to happen eventually,

but how close do I have to get?

The Last Time

I can’t recall the last time someone looked at me

and told me what they like about me.

I can’t remember the last time someone gave me

an ounce of hope that maybe I am pretty.

I can’t distinguish in my mind the last time someone

made me feel good about myself…

but I can sure as hell give you a list

of all the times someone told me the opposite

Fairytales

I wish that fairytales were real

because that would mean that

dreams really do come true

just because you will them too

and patiently wait for them to happen

and everyone gets a happy ending,

even me.

But that’s just not the case.

Love is a sham

and the more you believe in it,

the more you’ll get hurt.

then again, if you don’t believe in love,

the world reveals it’s cold self,

and it’s miserable living there,

but so is living in a constant state

where you believe that any day now

you’re fairytale will come true

and your prince will finally love you.

Go ahead and pick you poison:

reality or an apple.