If I had not gotten my self too caught up in her,
If I had deluded myself right out of thinking,
I was worthy of my own experience.
Was I star struck,
By this iridescent creature,
My newly found sister friend?
If I had gotten myself too lost in him,
If I had become so entranced in his eyes and his scent,
That I had hallucinated the better sides of him,
And was left with something simply…less.
If for a time my sight was trained too firmly inward,
That I forgot to look out my window,
and take stock of my surrounding,
For I had written the map that I follow,
If I had become too distracted by this thing I was supposed to be,
except that I didn’t want to,
but had to in order to meet all the expectations laid out for me to die by.
I wonder all these things into the silence,
as I lay awake at night to the sound of his breathing,
wondering if when he moans and shifts,
if when he closes his eyes in coital bliss,
If I am painted behind those lids.
I wonder it,
wetly into my pillow in the witching hour.
Covering my shame in the day light,
masking it behind my ambition,
which may well be as without talent as it is without resource.
Everyone knows my lies,
I am not her.
Even as I want desperately to be.
I am only the child they raised by accident.
And now, recognizing this,
that my very existence a chance occurrence,
not planned or in any way ordered by me,
That I should relinquish at least a ton of my weight.
Oh God, but my shoulders feel relieved at that.
My feet all the lighter for no longer needing his appraising eye,
to come away satisfied with me.
I remember that I owe him nothing but what I promised.
That which he has though he chooses to ignore it,
For the company of more flamboyant characters.
And her who I wish I was is just another kindred soul,
Sharing more comfortably each day the label of “Broken Thing”.
Repaired in each crack with gold,
and inlaid web of sparkling experience,
and I love her.
I am, in this moment in time and space,
an entity free of all that bullshit,
and I have a right to this,
feeling, clutched desperately to my bosom,
even against the onslaught of the absence of all my yearning.
This inward attitude of righteous aloneness,
determined and directed,
My path dammit.
my repentance, and reformation of self.
Time to build me,
time for me to be selfish.