you are not enough.
no, you are never enough. and all those "i love you"s
were phrases in the form of coins (you were the only rich
a man never wants to be), constantly you throw them into your
wannabe lover's well of romantic fantasies; but this wish,
will never come true for you because you are not enough,
nor you never will be. so even though you just wanted to be
a person someone takes their earbuds out (because they
actually care what you have to say instead of nodding), that
doesn't mean you ever will be. because you do not get to feel
the beauty after a waxing, you are nothing but the wax that burns the
person-you-pine-for's skin; they're screaming at you 'cause you
are not nor will ever be worth the pain to them. and yes,
you are the definition of agony and loving you would be a
monstrosity, because if you mean nothing one to anyone then,
why would they dare to love and care for you? no, you are not
enough to be loved and you never will be. so throw away
that weed (just as they did with you) you're using to count hopes
with because the answer is clear, right here: no, they love you not.
and take your tears and collect them in a dirtied jar (do not waste
the clean ones); pour it into the lake off the highway; pluck out
your heart; carve it into a million pieces; then drop the damn thing
in after it. since no one will ever love you, why hold such an organ
that simply wastes space? so no, you weren't enough. you are not enough.
you will never be enough.
The Pain Of Being Betrayed
I've waited for years on end
I've killed my heart plenty of times for their happiness
I've been stabbed for so many years
And I'm always left in the same place I started
Alone and in pain
Everyone always left me to rot
Everyone always left me to die
And I let them
I should've done something
I could've done something
But everytime someone new comes along...
They just try to break me
And it must be so disappointingly easy
Because I let them
The worst part about being betrayed
Is that it never comes from your enemies
A Desperate Night
An elderly woman lies in a snowbank,
Walking home from the food bank,
Trying to provide for her 40-year-old son,
Freezing outside, while he looks for fun.
In 68 years, she never caught a break,
Life never gives, only takes,
As she lies there on the cold hard ground,
She cries indignantly, but no one hears a sound.
Your skin is ashes,
and you hands as cold as stone.
I beg you to stay.
Words are worthless when
your body lays before me,
your soul far away.
I’ve bled out every month for years,
But nothing hurts like this.
I never heard your hopes or fears.
There’s nothing there to miss.
You started as a purple plus
Upon a plastic test.
You’ll never cry, you’ll never fuss.
You’ll not be laid to rest.
I flushed you down the toilet bowl,
Lost amongst the silt.
I failed to bring forth your soul.
You’ll never know my guilt.
~written 3 years ago today.
w r e c k
first i thought
you’d distract me from drowning,
i thought: let him,
someday all goes down
and i’ll be gone.
but then i realized
you held me,
you really kept me
above the surface
now you losen your grip,
you’re letting me go,
in your eyes i’m just another girl
you taught to swim.
but i’m a wreck, i have cracks,
i’m not ready,
it was so lovely
and you’re slipping away,
i want you to stay.
Where are your hands?
i ′ m
s i n k
i n g.
Just Let Go
A smile bit at the corners of her lips
a million thoughts flying through her mind
yet not a single one was about the essay
that her friends assumed she was worried about
No, she was thinking about the coolness of water
as it submerged her deeper into darkness
she was thinking about the roughness of a rope
that wrapped around her neck when she stepped off
she was thinking about the pop of pills
that would take her away from this world
because she didn’t mind the idea of dying
because anything was better than living in this nightmare
that people dared to believe was a dream come true
And she was thinking about the shiny little blade
that she ran across her wrists, just so that she could feel something
something real, just so that she could say she was still human
as little red beads of crimson dripped and shined from her skin like rubies
And she pulled her long sleeves further down
hiding the scars that shot across her arms like shooting stars
because they were something she was supposed to be ashamed about
and the thought of being called an attention-seeker killed her inside
because depression was just something everyone had
it was just a phase
So when she cried herself to shreds at night
choking on her own sobs
all she could think about was the word liar
Because her friends told her she was just lying, that it didn’t matter
they told her that the problems she had would pass
even though the weight in her chest never went away
and her thoughts became even darker than before
and she kept telling herself it will pass
she kept telling herself that she was making a big deal out of nothing
she kept telling herself that what she was feeling wasn’t valid
even as the screams of the little girl inside her
told her that these were only lies to keep her afloat
and each day kept dragging her farther and farther down
and she kept forcing herself to smile in front of a crowd of people
who never really cared about her at all
and this cycle kept going on and on
until finally she collapsed from the weight of the world
Because isn't it better to just let go?
and she asked herself this as the night wind whipped around her
as she stared at the crashing waves below
and thought about the freedom she'd feel with letting go
because it's not like anyone really needed her
she was just a waste of space
the wind wove its fingers through her hair
as she recalled the letters she addressed to her family sitting on her desk
everything was ready for her to leave
all she had to do was let go
and she did
tables scratched with names
smudged ink of fantasies and strangers
secrets that faded out with time
and hides in the depths of our memory
a thousand stories that never got to happen
i wonder if you’ll find yours
scratched in with fingernails
hidden in between the rows of desks
scratched hard and deep
on the table i used to sit at
the chairs were dented, and the
light tan was repainted a darker brown
i could still see the places
with streaks and scrapes and gashes
they smelled of oak and heavy promises
leather-bound books and quiet heartbreaks
the way the seats were arranged
remains untouched, nostalgic
and i’ll never forget the day
when yours became an empty space
the dark green chalkboard, used to be filled with words
that we tried to decipher, the summer of 2020
i could almost hear the sound of chalk against wood
that once replaced the rhythm of the clock
which now hangs on the wall, stayed in the date of 2017
what used to be covered in chalk now sits clean and empty
but stained with our ghastly white fingerprints
do you remember? that night, raining red chalk
something changed, and i know you like to pretend
it never happened, but i still dream about it every night
windows were opened and the silent wind
tasted like peaches and cotton candy
dark chocolate and a field of wild flowers
your favorite tastes and your favorite perfume
we used to stare out the window
our gazes meeting in the far horizon
pastel sunsets, lifeless trees, worn-out buildings
wishing time would go by faster
i looked through the windows one last time
the outside world continued to stay the same
so what changed? tell me it’s my fault
i sat down in the seat
that belonged to someone i
promised i tried to forget
but how could i, when you
gave me so much to remember?
so many reasons to live?
the same classroom
the same stories
the same fucking lies
i sat in your seat
& cried and cried
for what seemed like the first time
ever since you left
and i never knew how to cope
when it didn’t feel anything like falling
but holding a gun against my head
and hoping you wouldn’t pull the trigger
so i guess time has decided to stop
in this one place: room 815
all i ever wanted was to sit across from you again
even if you never knew
but that one night was too long
and a lifetime will never be enough
in your seat
i finally saw
what you were seeing for years
and i think i understand now
why you had to leave
turning wine into blood
her words were like red wine
thrown on my party dress
when i was in the hospital
she looked bewildered
at the schizophrenics &
she has so successfully
avoided those genetics
they said i was
named after the song Alison
by Elvis Costello
the years between our births
to an alcoholic
makes those lyrics tangible
the red wine our
mother threw at us
was never poetry
it was just blood
when i listen to the lyrics
of sad songs
i think of her face
when she saw my hospital gown
we are all grown up
Beverlie’s eyes were blue
Beverlie’s eyes were blue. That’s really all we knew.
She could hear and understand, but could not participate. The constant thought I had was how true it is that the eyes are windows to the soul. I could see through her eyes of baby blue.
Full of emotion with no hope of expression. One day melts into another. Days turn into weeks and months and then years, she remains stuck in her living shell, unable to move.
“God please take me home, why did you leave me this way”. She cannot say it, her heart cries out but her lips don’t speak. She’s stuck inside a body that betrays her.
She can hear life all around her and she lays in bed motionless except for a beating heart, breathing lungs and seeing eyes.
She can’t even tell you what she likes to eat. She can’t tell you if she’s too hot or too cold or that she has to go to the bathroom.
The hands on the clock continue ticking as they always do and life goes by for others as usual.
She is all alone inside this body that refuses to listen to her will and her hands freeze, nails digging into her skin and cannot cry out. It hurts and no one knows.
Her children visit and bring flowers that she can’t touch, longing to hug them and can’t.
Looking at the flowers, thinking about what a good mother she was to receive such a beautiful gift and again blue eyes well up, full of tears now sliding down her cheeks. Two daughters and a son, loving them, but unable to express it.
Simple things amused her, I loved her giggles, still able to smile her face would light up.
I knew her so briefly and I could see her reality. I spoke to her often and I could feel her through her blue eyes. She could both hear and understand, this was clear looking into her eyes. That was the sadness of it all.
I thought of her today. She had blue eyes. Beverly had blue eyes. ❤️
02 May 2019
Musings of a post menopausal insomniac mind