-My perfect match

Years of heartbreak sadly left me in such a broken state,

So I thefore concluded that loneliness was my fate.

But one day, Jesus told me ''dont lose hope, its not too late,

Take my hand my son and I shall lead you to your soulmate!''

The stars are tears
shed by the Universe,
as it yearns for an ounce of solace
in the vast, empty place above
where it's accustomed to survive,

Despite an obscure reluctance
we've all grown too familiar with--
burden heavy on its shoulders,

In spite of young children
wishing upon it every time the moon ascends,
revealing its ephemeral, yet foolish glow.

Until my voice shrivels up,
Until what breaks me is induced to make me,
Until I find gratitude in discomfort,
Until there is a cease to this fuel
cursed to burn forever,
In envy and greed,
Until a salivation is unearthed,
Until the trees dance and harmonize to my broken tune,
Until hope is found,
Until I am not a mere whisper that dies on the tongue,
Until in all hope lost a purpose is found ,
Until I no longer wish to die in solitude,
Until I question the reason to sing this medieval tale,
Until I halt and shatter and melt away,
I must sing this ancient song.

What are the rules?
I want them to be less conspicuous.
You know.
Out of direct sight?
Anonymously?
Perhaps a bit ambiguous,
Or behind a green door.
But Marilyn didn’t care.
In the end.

Sometimes I wish,
My sleep wouldn’t end,
So I wouldn’t have to deal with anything,
Ever again.
All alone in this hell called life,
Just makes me wish,
I would not survive.
Only more pain awaits,
They say it will get better with time,
But they don’t know,
No one understands it.
The unending sadness,
Of being alive.

I try to let you in.
But
You have a habit of letting me down.
I try.
Over
And over.
And it’s never enough.
I tell myself
“Tomorrow will be different.”
And every day
I wake up defeated.
Why?
Because you never change.
And you expect me to be like you.

I’ve been a marionette on your strings,
Acting like your perfect little girl.
But I’m not little anymore.
No.
I’m just tired.
Tired of mothering your kids.
Tired of being the punching bag for problems that never concerned me.
Tired of being nobody in your eyes until you need me.
Tired of being needed.
I just want to be.
Enough.
I want who I am.
To be enough for you.
The way it is for me.
I want to do nothing,
And still be told “I love you.”
I don’t want my worth to be measured by the amount that I give.
Otherwise I'd be worthless.
Because I have nothing left.
Why?
I gave it all to you.

And nobody would ever see it.
What goes on in our walls.
But I walk down the halls,
At school.
Where nobody suspects.
Because it’s me, Lil.
I’m chill and friendly and non confrontational.
I’ve got a great fam..
Right?

Yeah.
Right.

I hear you in my head.
While you text me all hours of the day.
Informing me of just how much I disappoint you.
You beautifully serenade those paragraphs.
But conveniently
you never seem to pick up when I call.
I didn’t know parenting was optional when you had kids.

I wish you thought having kids was an option.

Maybe you wouldn’t have had them.

I’m glad that you’re trying your best.
But that means nothing to me.
When your best doesn’t meet minimum standards.
My expectations are not high.
All I ask is that your knees scrape the basic levels of care.
That.
Is all I ask.
I don’t ask you to take me places.
Or buy me things.
Or drive me.
Or pick me up.
Because the amount of times I used to wait.
Hours after my friends were picked up.
And the teachers would offer to drive me home.
But I just sat there on the pavement,
not knowing which house I was going to end up in for the night.
Because somebody's mother forgot about them.
Why would I ask anymore?
Why would I hold on to false hope?
To make you feel better?
Maybe you don’t feel sorry.
Because you're not the one paying the price.
Price of what? You ask.


Of not being loved.