When ‘eventually’ takes too long
It has been years, and I am still holding on to the empty feeling of not being wanted, of been an accident.
Maybe I was 5 years old the first time I realized my birth had not been a choice.
The youngsters that birth me where too clueless for the pill
abortion was not an option
they would rather have had a boy
but into the world I came…
Blue inexplicable eyes and all!
A cry-all-the-time baby that was constantly sick, is how they used to describe me
A personality that requires balls of steel, is how dad referred to me
and, against doctors predictions I grew strong
against teachers expectations I learned fast
against my parents desires I complained, fussed, and fought hard!
Tough Little Fighter, my grandpa would call me
She is like chocolate with pepper spray, I overheard my mother’s description of me
And with this broken self image I learned to mask fragility.
Being fragille was never an option. I needed to be this uncomfortable presence and reminder of their inadequacies, and also mine.
The first best friend forgot to invite me for her birthday
The first boyfriend called me scared wild beast
The first husband often reminded me that I was not a princess, or anything that special…
And I felt consistently not seen
consistently assumed to be someone else
consistently taken for granted
consistently not chosen, wanted or desired
If love were to punch me in the face, I bet I could not recognize it.
It might be because love does not punch, but I would not know…
A woman I am
Smart as they come
I hear daily that I am beautiful and funny
I feel daily that I am scared shitless to be seen and yet I am incapable of hiding myself
I shine when I talk, and I cry when I laugh
I love life and sometimes feel I can have it all
But love, well, I am not sure I have ever felt it, met it, known it
There is this quality in love that I confuse with been someone’s dream
This weird idea that someone prayed for something just like me…
not too funny that I call myself a thing…
and sometimes… most of the time… oh fuck! if I may keep it real, all the fucking time, to hear that I am god’s dream, and my existence was her desire, does not work at all in the emotional hole caused by the fact that my parents still don’t call to ask me how I am
My therapist said eventually I will have it all figured out
The guide told me that god has a purpose in my pain — mean mean mean god such guide must follow…
A friend keeps trying the non sense talk of “look at you, you are so amazing!”
but my heart wonders, why does eventually has to take so long?