Thursday, January 7, 2016

Like coming home

"it was like coming back
almost like coming back home
but not quite
There were bits and odds missing
here and there
it was exactly how I remembered
the mirror in the living room
and the piece on the mantle
still the same wallpaper in the  game room
and the same stillness of the place
perhaps it was that
that made me so uneasy
that the passing of the years
had seemed to skip this house
I had left and
and I could not fit back into this loophole
only the roses had dwindled down
since my grandmother passed
it was them who felt
the loneliness
them and no one else
no one until me
until I walked in"

No we're not the lucky ones ~

Aren’t you the lucky one?
She asked, truly believing the question was a compliment
Never expecting the outpour that awaited

No I don’t think I am
I don’t think any of us are
We’re the ones that have to live with loss
With that bitter emptiness of loosing someone dear
With disappointments and failures
We’re the ones always trying to make it seem like we’re fine
Because we have to
Because everyone expects us to be stronger than we are
No we’re not the lucky ones
We live with tears brimming on the edge
With broken hearts and lonely nights
We’re the broken ones trying to patch up everything else
We’re the ones that have to continue on whatever legacy we misguidedly believe
We’re the ones fights for every kind of equality, ones we didn’t even know existed, knowing we will never see them until we’re gone
We’re the in between generation, the halfway generation
The one where everything moves so fast and is gone so quickly
That you’re not sure if you’re ahead or behind
We’re the ones with unreachable expectations
That we have set on ourselves
From others
We’re the tired ones, exhausted from all we want and all we do and all we haven’t reached.
But we can’t stop, won’t stop, that’s called quitting
And we don't ever quit
We’re the ones stuck in some sort of fight to break glass ceilings and concrete walls
I’m not sure how it all started and I’m not sure where it will end
No we are not the lucky ones
We’re the ones that dry our own tears
And never let anyone see us cry
Because strong women don’t cry
And we have it all
So everyone can say we’re lucky
But that’s just how myths are created, is it not?