Poem 87

elle

frozen.

i didn’t think about the length of snowfall during winters.
i’d never seen snow unless they were in films.
but i knew winter like no other.

i didn’t think about how i could never wear my dresses
during extremely heated summers.
it was always not the right moment for me.
and with the passing of incoherent seasons,
along with harsh conversations,
i grew weary of the reflection that stared.

it never bothered me to be the beautiful girl
until i started to feel ugly
and every bit of my skin crawled
for each compliment that came my way.

there are jagged repeated lines
that tell me how beautiful i am.
there are empty bottles
to remind me how blessed i should be.
there are canisters, all the same,
for when the lines and bottles can’t do the job.

summer is a vacation.
summer is carefree.
summer is free.

i’d always been the girl who looked like spring
when all i’d ever really known
was the ending of fall
and the endless winter.

c. velajune 2016

 

writer’s note. I’ve been thinking of writing this for some time and tonight I finally did. Bit by bit, I’m finding more of the poison filled vials. Things that were toxic to me. Things that turned me to the person I was last October… Things that tore me apart piece by piece until I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I’m slowly finding them. And at my own pace, I’m facing my greatest fears and embracing the leftovers of what had been me, hoping that they may grow in my warmth.

I wrote this poem because I was tired of people seeing me for who I wasn’t. Sometimes, they are little things. Other times they’re big, so big that I can’t move on until I’ve faced it.

When you place your expectations on someone without taking into consideration how they may feel, that breaks them. It takes a lot of energy to pretend to be something we’re not. To lie. To be angry.

I just want to stop being a liar and being angry all the time. I’m happy being happy, content with the life I’ve chosen because, at the end of the day, it’s no one else’s life but my own. No one else is living my pains, feeling the hurt that I feel at every guilt, and no one, not one person, worries more about me than me. So let me love me.

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2 thoughts on “Poem 87

  1. Wise words. In order to truly love, we must love ourselves first. Peeling back the layers of deception takes time, but is the great reward in life … Keep going, learning to be free!

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