Poems/Musings

Patience.

Some days I’m just proud of myself for taking off my makeup at night.

While other people are out living and mixing it up,

I’m home, under the covers, afraid of the light.

Thinking of sad stories from the news and across the nation,

making myself remember past hurts like some kind of emotional masturbation.

It’s a weird feeling to wish you could’ve made more bad decisions,

but it would’ve leveled the playing field for my fragile heart and decreased the impact of all those collisions.

So I wake up and prepare myself to do the right thing all day to set an example for those who look up to me,

because every move I make is watched by the eyes of those who have this vision that one day I’ll make history.

But striving to live out my name makes me want to be that:

History.

Like when they used to think the world was flat.

I find myself wishing it were, so I could walk off of it.

Maybe I’d find a life out there where the floor isn’t so cold when I step out of bed to find that the world is colder.

Or maybe I’d find a place where I could cry out my anxiety, stress, pain, and worry on someone’s Shoulder.

A Shoulder that doesn’t just want one thing from me, or too many things from me, for that matter.

Or I’d find a Listening Ear that’d try its best to keep up as my thoughts scatter.

Don’t call this “depression.”

Don’t label it “sadness.”

Don’t give it the misnomer of “frustration.”

I’m just thinking, and knowing that one day I’ll find this poem and laugh. And be grateful, because life will be so much better then.

It’s OK to take it all in.

Lean into it.

Feel your feelings fully now.

Because one day…

Advertisements