Tag Archives: expectations

Hero

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It’s something I always knew.

It’s something we all knew.

We didn’t want to address it.

We didn’t want to face it.

I didn’t want to face it.

The glances I’ll clock.

The sheep of stigma that’ll flock.

The throwing of their rocks.

The quirks they’ll mock.

The rabbit holes of horror…

they’ll simply never stop.

It was me.

It was me!

This whole time, it was me.

I’m no victim.

I’m the killer.

I’m never the substance,

only filler.

The narrative in my head

far surpasses the 

reality of the life I’ve led.

What a concept.

What a threat.

This expectation that I’m vile,

you’re telling me I’ve never met?

What’s more ill?

A diagnosis or

the suppression of my character?

I tell myself what others tell me.

Turns out, it’s only silence,

and those negativities?

Baby, that’s all me.

I’m fundamentally kind.

I’m a rare comedic find.

I’m empathetic and I’m loyal.

My compassion never foils.

I succeed, and I thrive.

I’m consistently praised and recognized.

I’ve been locked in darkness,

yet shine so bright.

My heart was chronically harnessed,

yet it unleashed to Mr. Right.

I’m capable and worthy of love.

An ideology I’d simply never heard of.

This guilt and shame?

For what?

Living in my own brain?

It’s out of my control

and I finally surrender.

I’m no lost cause,

and my life will be filled with splendor.

I may be the villain in someone’s story.

They may judge and fuel their own glory.

No punishment was greater served 

than the one I imposed on myself.

You’re welcome,

but now I’ve found help.

I deserve better and I am better.

I’m no hero to you.

That’s okay.

I’m a hero to myself,

in each and every way.

The Waiting Room

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I had a dream the other day.

We were in a doctor’s office.

Perhaps it was a metaphor of a true check-up.

A storm was coming,

and the predictions were egregious. 

We chatted about our preparations,

and held small talk about how we were doing.

You haven’t crossed my mind in years.

Unless I’m drudging up mistakes of the past, or the love I’ve lost,

I simply don’t give you access to my mind.

You’ve already done enough damage,

and my rental has been finishing repairs.

I love the reconstruction, honestly.

I’m finally being booked at a higher price, 

the one I should’ve charged for you.

My love met me at the office and you shook his hand.

You watched us leave and I looked back.

I smiled, and could feel my hand grip his a little tighter.

The healing, the growth, the success, the unconditional love, and the value…

I have that. I did that.

Everything you once told me that I couldn’t be or couldn’t have…

here I am, and I have it all.

You’ve crept in the background, 

and don’t feel surprised,

because I saw you.

This dream granted you full visibility.

For once, we shared true transparency.

It was invigorating.

It was powerful.

After all this time, I’ve still held a small amount of pain and anger.

Not necessarily because I’m thinking of you; don’t let your ego get inflated, 

but rather the situations that involved you.

The trauma showed itself in the unexpected. 

Cruel, bent, rusty nails that just wouldn’t budge.

I finally got to tell you how I worked hard to be where I’m at today.

Incredibly hard.

I deserve this life, this love, and this healing.

I deserve to walk away with this smile.

I earned it.

I hope you’re in a similar place, truly.

I think that was the point of the dream.

I’m finally strong enough to wish you well.

54321

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I feel a detachment.

One so sharply edged, that I’m bleeding.

I feel a panic.

One so numbing, that I’m floating.

I feel a fear.

One so horrific, that I’m hiding.

I feel a confusion.

One so obliterating, that I’ve entered a delusion.

I feel an emptiness.

One so hollow, that any remaining feeling is simply the negative reverberations of my thoughts.  

–

I see a void.

Yet, it’s all consuming.

I see colors.

Yet, they all fade to a grey scale.

I see flames.

Yet, it only lingers as ash.

I see a pillow.

Yet, it provides no comfort for my head…

only anguish.

–

I hear my own echo.

It’s haunting, and there’s a crew of spirits.

I hear a slow drip.

It’s an attempt at keeping the faucets of my ego from freezing.

I hear white noise.

It’s the only way I can stay sane.

–

I smell an overpoweringly nauseating aroma.

The one that makes you ill.

The one you can’t escape.

The one that can’t be cured.

Even time has to wait.

Once you’ve inhaled the suffering, you cannot forget it.

I smell morbidity.

The one that seizes your brain.

The one that turns joy to mold.

The one that crumbles to a shady blue in your hands.

Even wine won’t pair well.

Once you’ve inhaled the doubt, it becomes your captor.

 –

I taste a bitterness,

but the longing for peace remains sweet.

The Gardener

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Many years ago,

I had a garden.

It was exquisite,

it was nurtured;

and it was vast.

I became a masterful gardener.

From the placement of the seed

to the trimming of their leaves,

I studied and learned how to properly tend.

Sunflowers, tulips, and orchids

lined a winding path.

To one’s surprise, 

they’d even find cacti, dahlias,

and roses,

all blended and alive.

I felt a sense of pride as I watched them grow, blossom, and even begin to die.

I knew they’d soon return,

the cycle would continue,

and there was simply not an end.

However, one day,

perhaps within minutes,

they all seemed to fall ill.

I did my best to help them,

to restore and see them rise once again.

That day never came.

All this time and beauty, wasted.

My vision went from a bright and beautiful color of hope

to a blackened blur of betrayal.

How? Why?

I left the garden, but still viewed it from my window.

The sun rose and fell, over and over again.

The moon provided an eerie silver glow upon the fields.

It appeared as a false shimmering gleam of hope,

of desire; of desperation.

I began to dread the night.

The ending of my day;

the battering reminder of what was

and what will never be.

I left my perch upon the window and drifted to the solace of another room.

One without a view.

I pondered what had happened,

many times.

A pest? A lack or oversupply of water?

Were my hands too tired?

Was my mind too empty?

Or had my heart shrunk a size too small?

I gave, and gave, and gave some more.

I did what I could.

I did my best.

I, I… I.

It was then I could pose the question…

Who tended to me?

It was I who stopped growing.

It was I who had been dying.

It was I who lost my way.

I thought I’d lost my garden,

but I had lost myself.

Slowly, I creep back to my window.

I give another look, or two.

I ask myself if I’m ready.

If I can bare the pain of growth and loss

yet again.

One day, when I feel whole,

I’ll plant a few seeds again.

One day, when the trust of reciprocation 

feels present,

I’ll tend to my garden.

More importantly, I’ll tend to the gardener. 

The 23rd

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You were a beautiful distraction. 

One filled with many misleading interactions. 

I wish I could, as you so graciously state it, say less.

However that’s just not how I am. Perhaps, for the best.

To you, there’s dating and a dating phase.

Please explain, as I thought they were the same.

Your chivalry was strong, and your words were sweet.

Moving fast, you swept me off my feet.

You had me by your smile, and by your eyes.

Maybe I’m mistaken, but I thought I also had you with mine.

I changed my rules for you, nearly every expectation. 

Imagine my surprise when you repaid me with hesitation. 

You say it’s nice to be important, and important to be nice.

With how you’ve been lately, maybe you should repeat that last line, twice.

All I need from a man is respect and attention.

If that’s more than you can offer, perhaps you need some self reflection.

Here I am remembering Marley, as I channel my inner Swift.

No woman, no cry, as I continue to write down my relationship bullshit. 

Penny for your thoughts, but a dollar for mine. 

Yes, it’s your loss. Better luck next time.