sins + Poem 47

I’ve been thinking, maybe I should have done this for my 100th post. This is personal, as do the other things I’ve written. But this one… this one hits home in a lot of aspects: my father complex, my identity crisis that I often have, family issues, self-doubt that began when I was in high school, the days when I used to cut… it touches so much of the pain that’s stuck in my heart.

As you all have read before, I’ve been in quite a slump and I can’t seem to get out of it. I’ve lied so much that I’m no longer sure how I really feel. To family, I look fine and dandy. To friends, I’m tired, but hanging on. I think, in reality though, I’m lost my way. I can’t get my bearings. The successful 7 quarters are now about to crumble because of one mistake during my 8th quarter because it’s snowballed that much.

I’m about to have a summer vacation and today’s my last final for the quarter, but I feel like I’m still so far from vacation. I feel like breaking down because I’ve worked so hard. I think the hardest part of what I’m going through is that I’m not sure about anything.

I don’t know where I’m going or why I even took this path. My dream was to be a painter. As a child, I knew I couldn’t be that because I had to share the load, to share the burden of helping family in a different country. I was to help because I have privileges that they don’t.

The way I see it though, from how life has been for them, I’m shackled and they run free. They make even more stupid decisions and I feel like I have to pay for that on top of my own stupid mistakes.

Probably, I’m thinking too much. It happens often, but until I get those grades, I won’t have peace of mind. And even then, I don’t think I’d be able to take it.

Life sucks when there’s no reason to keep trying.

Anyway, here’s a poem I made.

 

 

 

Red Wine

My face was red from the embarrassment,
of having to hold the glass of wine
and answer questions I had no clue about.

Maybe I’d been flushed,
drunk and out of my mind
during such a crucial time.

But it felt hot in that big room,
I was burning from head to toe
as I tried to rack my brain.

I licked my very dry lips
to buy myself some time,
some undeserved reservation.

The chandelier felt like a heat lamp
set to warm a cold-blooded reptile
like the snake that I thought I was.

It’s not for them, at first they’d say,
but turn around as I would leave
to tell others, they’d given so much.

I knew, I had always known,
that all that giving was just taking
in a nasty, hypocritical disguise.

I felt like I was interrogated
by their judging eyes and that fact alone
should have said it all.

It should have all been me,
all about me, and who I’d be
not for you, them, but for myself.

But even as I speak,
and hug myself away,
I’m too lost now.

They asked me what I liked,
but all I see are disapproval
that forces me to hide.

I have so much to say with so few words
and given too little a time
to even scratch the surface of it all.

I was dying from the disappointment
of holding your glass of wine
and trying to live up to your ideals.

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2 thoughts on “sins + Poem 47

  1. Oh Vela, you are such an amazing writer.
    This post really hit home for me. I too share many of the same worries, issues, and doubts that you bear. I too have issues with a ‘father complex’ due to complicated issues with an absentee father. And I know it is hard sometimes to see the point of living through it all.
    But know that you are not alone and that there is always a reason to live. You will find your own happiness someday not the forced path you have come to know and hate. You need no one’s approval but your own – love yourself and nothing can hurt you. Keep fighting, darling. You’ll get there. ❤

    • Thanks so much for your words of comfort. It’s always nice to know I’m not the only one with such problems.

      I’m pretty aware that I’m not alone, that there are plenty of reasons to live and that all I need is my own permission. It’s difficult though, to apply that knowledge to the everyday. I hope that I do get ‘there’ someday though. Someday.

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