do you think its natural for someone to search for love?
or is it like some sort of forced perception
that we randomly fall into
because its so common to have that sort of connection?

My heart stopped at
an early age.
When i started thinking,
What i can be?
Will they like it?
Will they like me?

My own voice got lost,
in the noise of others.
My soul was singing in symphonies,
which my mind cant compose.
No one called out my name.
Neither do I.

It took me a long time ,
to listen to my inner songs,
calling out my name.
It was a moment of epiphany,
Which warmed my cold heart,
Stirred my soul.
And elated me above my fears and scars.

My MISTAKES and ME from my yesterday,
My SCARS and ME from today,
And the WISER ME from tomorrow
are now making up the brightest stars
in the constellation of my life.

~
Would that the words would
come easily to me.
For me to be able to express
myself, to be a strong and proud
and confident bard...

Would that I could feel more
secure in the power of my ink
to not feel dread or shame or
depressed for now keeping
my ink flowing upon the
canvas...

Would that my soul would fall
into the arms of the true moon
that sees my soul...
I know that I am flawed.
I fear that one day my mistakes,
my past will catch up and drag
me down into a hell where others
loathe me...

And while my wounds are fresh
the ghosts that I have locked
behind the doors, the ones that
one time that I had loved and
let go for my own stability will
rise...

I can admit my faults,
but it hurts when my mind leaves
me floating in a dark sea; calm
with no light, no shore, no soul
in sight...

Would that I can believe
that indeed

I am good enough...
~

I'm Tired, Mother
April 9, 2018

|

Poet_Anonymous

Sometimes it gets hard to breathe

Because my chest is filled

With the guilt and

The regret of the

Unwanted pain I've

Caused you.



We get in arguments,

Although not either of us

Try to show

A little empathy

For the other.



I've been a stubborn *****

And unfortuenly

I know that I have.

But as much as it seems

That I don't care

I do.

But I just don't know

How to show you.



You tell me ways

To show

That I care

And I try

I really do

But it seems that every

Time I do try

I ***** up and we

Argue once more.



Mother,

It gets hard,

To follow in your

Footsteps

Because every

footstep of yours

Is a footstep of shadows and agony for me,

With my mind and heart saying

In agreeance

"I don't want this."



It gets hard

Because although I know

You as my role model

As my idol

I also know

That I will never

Be anything more

Than a faint echo

Of the amazing woman you are.



It gets hard

To talk to you

Becasuse as much as I try

You never seem to understand

And you always say

That you've been through it before



But one flaw in that statement is

Dear Mother

Is that you may have been

Through the same struggles as mine

But you've never been through

It as me.



Try as you might,

But you will never be able to comprehend these

Thoughts running a wild in

My head



It gets hard mother

To paste a smile

on my procaine face

when we meet someone new

As they are always

commending how you

And Sister look alike

They rarely ever look at me

And say how

Similar you and I look



It gets hard, Mother

Because when people are

Comparing you and Sister

Or contrasting you and I

I am breaking in the background

And it gets hard to accept that I don't have anyone, anymore

That people can compare me too.



It gets hard, Mother

When I tell people my history

I tell the brave people

Who ask if Stepfather is Father

And when I say no,

Then they ask where Father is

And all I can say is "I don't know."



But the thing that breaks me the most

Is when, after I say that, that they

Look down, with pity on their face

They say their sorry

But I can tell that they aren't



But I dismiss it

making sure I don't show what I really feel

Because in actuality

I am crying inside

I always led pride and stubbornness show

When all I want to do is weep

What I have been holding in for so long.



I know that I am acting vain

That there are people out there

Who have it worse than I

But it gets hard, Mother

To square my shoulders and stand up straight

When I'd much rather roll into a ball

In the hideous corners of an inky black room



I really get tired, Mother,

Of pretending to be someone I'm not

I'm just tired, Mother, I really am.