Tag Archives: writing

Check -a poem-

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On the outside
she looks like she’s barely trying.

On the inside
she feels like she’s slowly dying.

When would someone see
the signs of a broken girl
who’s running out of time?

Her mind – a hive
of soul-killing ideas
that she’s
unworthy,
unlovable,
unwanted,
undeniably unnecessary to anyone.

Check on your friends
who smile through pain.
Check on your friends
who work hard to maintain
some semblance that everything’s always okay
come rain, come sun, come cloudy day –

for the face they wear is but a mask
glue-filled cracks
waiting for someone to finally ask
“be honest, please, are you okay?”
so they can admit
“it’s all a display;
i’m so damn tired of being awake,
desperately looking to finally escape.”

Check on your friends before it’s too late.

Outlet -a poem-

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1

The car-
a space to scream:
freedom to express emotions
weighing me down every damn day.

Therapy-
a paid person to talk to:
a judgement free safe space,
faced with a fresh perspective.

Social media-
A chance to forget:
forced you to find something positive;
we share a glimpse to create a narrative.

Journal-
a place to write:
journals don’t judge, paper doesn’t poke
until you break, desperate for happiness.

Words.
We all need a place
where we can use our words
to freely feel our feelings.
In this society where we’re expected
to fake it til we make it,
what happens when you can’t?

Max capacity,
living unhappily
until we deal with it drastically:

a temporary problem
solved with a permanent solution.

I’m Sorry -a poem-

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I’m sorry
for venting
when you wanted quiet.
I’m sorry
for crying
instead of just being silent.
I’m sorry
for thinking
I had your shoulder to lean on.
I’m sorry
for relying
on the vows we agreed on.
I’m sorry
for asking
you to feel some emotion.
I’m sorry
for hoping
you’d have a solution.

I’ll just go back to keeping to myself
now that I know you don’t want to help.

I’m Not A Sore Loser, but

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I do have some feelings about it.

I struggle a lot with extremely high expectations of myself, holding myself to unreasonably high standards, needing a lot of validation from others to think I’m not literally the worst teacher, employee, friend, wife, person, etc. It’s hard to live in my head some days, especially this year where we teachers have had to stop and adjust our entire teaching methodology to continue educating in a pandemic.

This post is hard for me to write, because every way I attempt to phrase my frustration makes it sound I’m just a sore loser and I’m not happy for others, and honestly none of that is true. I am not going to share this post on my social media because I don’t need the whispers of my coworkers in the hallway or family members at gatherings spreading half-truths. I just have feelings and words and my they didn’t feel sufficient in my journal.

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Social Media -a poem-

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I’m taking a break from fake –
I mean – Facebook.

It is fake though,
full of smiling faces,
pictures of places people go
to escape what goes on behind the scenes.

We scroll mindlessly every night,
think of how good everyone else has it
while we sit and suffer
because our life sucks in comparison.

A couple in love,
a friend thriving in their career;
we think we want what they have
because we can’t see
the bickering,
the late nights,
the feeling of being alone,
the endless debt,
the texts from another lover,
the fear of losing it all with one mistake.

Social media makes us want
what we can’t have
when in reality,
no one has it in the first place.

We can’t base our feelings
on what we see online.
I’m not going to keep making this mistake.
I’m taking a fucking Facebook break.

when was the last time you were happy? -a poem-

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When the students weren’t the only ones
taking home new knowledge everyday.

When he brought home a candy bar
from the gas station
even though I said, “nah I’m good.”

When I didn’t rely on others
to validate me, affirm me –
because I knew what I was doing
was my best and it was good enough –
great, even.

When I stopped sabotaging myself,
selling myself short,
stuck on the worst case scenario,
always wondering when it would all fall
apart – as though I was just summoning
those bad vibes to join me in bed
every damn night until they took control
and now –

happiness is just a memory.
stuffed to the basement
with everything else I forgot I needed.

Relinquishing Control (Or At Least Trying To)

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It’s hard for many to admit: you truly do not have control over anything except for yourself. I’ll be honest, this is one thing that has absolutely wrecked me over this last year of my life. I never considered myself to be the Type A control freak. I’m way too introverted to carry that title and position. Most “control freaks” run a situation, refusing to let others take over.

I, rather, let other people run the show while I watch from the sidelines as things fall apart because I knew better but was too afraid to stand up and say anything. What happens when things don’t work out as planned? Someone has to pick up the pieces and fix it. Enter me: the fixer. I have no issues with this role. Never have.

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