Hey girl.
You’re about 21,
your life has just begun.
And still,
your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.
Maybe, you’ve gotten wise;
or maybe you realized
that you don’t know where you’re going.
you’ve got two kids that you’re toting;
Life is hard.
You’re in school and working two jobs,
and maybe it’s time to take that offer
from your mom..
You know the one,
when she told you to come back home;
but you’re conflicted.
You want to be independent,
and show everyone that you can do this on your own.
Except only you’re breaking down
crying, every time you’re alone.
This is not okay,
you are not okay,
and that’s okay.
But you still won’t tell a soul.
You still smile and laugh
you have everyone fooled.
When the lights are out
you think of the very thing that no one should do.
Contemplating the act.
Thinking of everything you’d leave behind.
Both fond memories and trauma replaying in your mind.
What would your parents think?
Your sister?
Your brothers?
The ones who promised to love you through anything, and said “we’ll always be here for each other.”
Those 2 boys of yours, they think the world of you.
Just imagine, a life without you in it.
I don’t think that will do.
You realize now, it’s okay to seek help.
Take that pride and put it on a shelf.
It won’t do you any good here;
You’ve got too much life that’s left.
You try to escape reality daily
and it gets you by.
Often catching anxiety attacks when reality hits again, making you lose the high.
It’s only temporary relief that the weed gives.
So you do the unthinkable, something you haven’t done in years.
You pick up a pen and paper.
And you write a poem,
you title it “I need help” your emotions are showing..
the words endlessly and effortlessly flowing.
You finish that poem,
1400 words later.
You sigh with relief.
Never realizing how therapeutic it is
to scribble on a sheet.
This becomes a daily thing,
the pain in your chest lessening each day.
Hoping that this poetry will be your saving grace.
The thoughts of your demise no longer occur.
because now you’re 23 and met the man who will change your world.
A year later, you both say I do.
You complete your beautiful family
with not just one baby, but two.
Now here you are at 32,
and don’t get me wrong,
you’re still sad..
but you view your life differently now,
having things you’ve never had.
Your smile is brighter, authentic even.
Because you don’t have to hide.
And most importantly,
you no longer address yourself
as the girl with sad eyes.
– Poetic Gawdess
You always find yourself when you don’t realize it.
23 sounded like a good year of life for you!
Yeah, I’d say that it was. Thank you for reading six. xx
Beautifully penned, PG. Excellent write with a very powerful message. Writing is therapy I agree with you completely. No matter how creative I get with a poem or lyrics there is always a therapeutic quality even as simple as getting something off my chest. Very relatable piece lets me know I’m not alone in the world. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you Damian. I love that we can turn such pain into such beauty with the art of our choice.. there really is something poetic about it, ironically. Lol.
Thanks for reading my friend. xx
PG
When the darkness surrounds you and you think of the unthinkable remember this.
You have to be alive to find peace.Death just brings death.
Now you take care and keep writing.
🙏💋🙏
Promise to keep on, keeping on! Thanks Peter. xx
This is powerful and the images and words are delicately constructed. Always move forward PG, never look back. Well written.
The pain I’ve endured has always been a stark reminder that I’m alive. I’m grateful for that.. always moving forward. Thank you, Vision. xx
https://shorturl.fm/mO3xT
Great piece. There’s also a hidden but great message in here. Yes, kick your kids out of the nest. But let them know if pressure builds, if the world becomes to much, the door opens both ways and they’re always welcome. So many people commit the acts that they do, endure the abuse that they do because they have no where’s to return to
Your muse has the answer of your being, so continue to let the words flow and live as you dream…but don’t any wooden nickels, are flying monkeys.