Through every stage of my life
I've been buried under a different mask
All these other people I chose to embody
Spawn from a child made of broken glass

Pieces of my personality were scattered
And over time I slowly picked up the shards
A shattered mirror cannot be perfectly put back together
So I learned to live with the cracks manifested as scars

We're poisoned by love songs and happy endings
And I longed for that slow kiss before the conclusion
The day some perfect man would swoop in and save me
From an adolescent hell I was barely surviving

As I grew more conscious of my body
And became aware of all the ways it could be used
I believed I needed to adapt and be available
And pray in the morning I would still be worthy of fleeting love

I shapeshifted myself to match the scenery
Transforming into these acceptable characters
Maybe I was supposed to be that dreamy happy ending
For friends and lovers that promised to stick around

I let neglectful minds slowly erode me
By chomping at their bate disguised as affection
I ate up their crumbs while flipping through my masks
Until I unveiled the one they saw as perfection

I kept playing all these different parts
To serve others the script I thought they wanted
And when I experimented with staying true to myself
I felt the weight of responsibility for being rejected

The lines of who I actually was started to blur
Between born identity and the other people I had become
I was blinded to the evil I had eventually let in
True love I secured and believed was the one

All those yearning ambitions finally came true
The great escape towards devotion and freedom
I had instead flung myself directly into a shiny new cage
And the person I settled on becoming was mindless and beaten

When I reflect on all those people I have been
Certain choices I've made still haunt me to my core
My personality has mutated too many times to count
Now I hardly recognize my own face in that distorted broken mirror

My only desire was to be loved and accepted for my true self
But unfortunately I never really knew who that was
Too consumed with the idea that I have to be somebody
Tailor made to serve and fulfil someone else

What I never realized is that I am the host of this party
That lonely teenager and somber adult were always in control
Maybe I wouldn't be lost in these costumes I created
And I'd throw away the masks still waiting for their turn

My ex used to say I was his little bird
I thought maybe because I was so small
And every morning I would sing sweet songs
As the sun peaked high through our window

In the evenings we'd sit beside the emptied bath
He'd say I was as cute as a baby white dove
Without knowing I instead began to mourn the life
I had before I held his disconnected love

An endless yearning had grown in my heart
To soar above the rooftops and tall trees
I had evidently become his effortless prey
Falling in love that young is so naïve

I believed I was that measly little bird
A hollow ***** victim crying over clipped wings
Another sacrifice to romanced circumstance
So I built a nest around regret and lost dignity

I used to hate being called his little baby bird
But he had convinced me that we were equal
Until I realized he was the frail white-winged dove
And he caged me because I was an eagle

All the me's that I have been
Are all the voices stuck in my head
They never stop tearing me to shreds
I wish I knew ******* them

I bought myself a new car
In March of 2024
It came with all the bells and whistles
A bright green Ford Bronco Sport

My old Chevy stayed in the driveway
Gathering dust for quite a long while
The Bronco eventually had to go back to the dealer
New cars always have recalls

After 10 years and 140,000 miles
The Cruze just wouldn't stay running
I replaced the battery, alternator, and drive belt
Even the fuel pump to be cautious

I wondered if she was punishing me
For leaving her to sit in the sun
She just wasn't as reliable anymore
And I didn't want to be stranded again

That car took me so many places
She never broke down when I drove away from pain
All those trips to New Orleans and Milwaukee
Funerals, former homes, and divorce court dates

The turbo saved my life, I'm sure
More than a few times on the interstate
I love my new car but I'm not ready to let go
Sometimes, my little Chevy was the only place I felt safe

I wish I would have known
The last time I was in her driver seat
It would be the end of our grand adventures
Windows down, cigarette in hand, with heavy metal blasting

My face is getting round
And my hair is turning gray
I'm only in my early 30s
It's not supposed to be this way

My old T-shirts are getting tighter
And I hate looking in the mirror
I never used to have to work for it
Now I'm depressed that age has caught up with me

Laying in bed doesn't solve anything
Watching the same shows over and over
Crying that my life can't just be written for me
I have to participate in a script that can be uncomfortable

Sometimes, when I sneeze
I accidentally *** a little bit
It's a side effect of giving birth
A funny little parting gift from my kid

This body has been damaged in several various ways
I used to be smaller and more attuned
My face thinner, eyes brighter
But I have officially aged past my youth

I'm still learning to view myself in a better light
To accept the woman and mother I've become
And be more mindful of my wisdom and experiences
Because I wouldn't have these wrinkles without laughter and love

I wanted to be an artist
But instead, I have to write
It felt like a death sentence
A funeral of my thoughts paraded through every line

I used to think this writing
Was something I could not control
An entity separate from myself
Some godly gift I was made to play host

They say poetry is as old a time
So was I born with a seed planted in my heart?
Did childhood trauma unlock this age old art?
Was I damaged to the brink of another being inhabiting my spirit?

The walls must have cracked inside my head
I truly accepted I was to become nothing
Until these words kept spilling from my pen
Pouring out over and over so that I could finally breathe again

These sparks would come and leave whenever they wanted
Using my mind as if it's a vacation home
Like I'm an Airbnb or some excursion from the darkness
Leaving behind crumbs of poetry at my door

I used to believe I was not the authority
Of this treasure that I occasionally displayed
All alone with my little scraps of notes
Then, something happened I cannot explain

I sunk my teeth into this otherworldly guest
And chained them to my stained broken walls
Now the inspiration flows as if my cup was never empty
This new liberated ability that so fluently translates art

I wanted to be an artist
But my hands were not meant to be covered in paint and color
They were crafted long before the day I was born
To write inspiration into the hearts others

I was always meant to be a spout
For an endless flow of hallowed water
There was never an infiltration by an ancient angry entity
I was simply given the fate of a melancholy poet

Now that I'm in control of this limitless power
I see beauty in the wind and wide open space
Creativity can be triggered from the simplest conversation
Because everything is inspiring if you're looking in the right place

I'm grateful for this gift that was bestowed upon me
Whether trauma or inheritance, it's no longer relevant
Now I see the whole of existence as a literary muse
And the paintings that I write into your mind is where you'll find the artist

There are no more heroes
Unless you're what the media wants
No more Sylvia's or Emily's
Never another Edgar, Whitman, or Frost!

I am but a drop in an ocean
My heart will stay stuck in my throat
Fame will only come upon my end!
The plight of a natural born poet

All we know is write, write, write!
Words that wont reach until our last breath
Must we exist in this silence while forced to be alive?
We'll never know who was saved from our death!

How terribly embarrassing!
Those who sit in a fluorescent white room
Being taught what we were born to know
To love, and write, and lose!