Years...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Years...

Submitted: March 14, 2013

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Submitted: March 14, 2013

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When your 10, life is all about summer days, sleepovers at grandma’s house, and chasing down the ice cream man. Playing red rover red rover, red light green light, freeze tag, and watching Saturday morning cartoons. Planning out your life, making pinky promises, and the only words that struck fear in your heart was “I’m telling mom”. A few years go by and there you are at 15. You enter a whole new world of high school, dating possibility’s, and what it takes to be cool. Of fluctuating hormones, inconsistent friendships, and plummeting grades and self-esteem. Where life becomes awful cause you’re not pretty, or smart, or popular, where the only words that you dread hearing are “your grounded”. Years pass by and there you are at 18, barley graduated by the skin of your teeth, moved out of your parents’ house, working a full time job, and trying to keep friendships going. Where mom calls you 2 to 3 times a week, where she sends you home with care packages full of food after every visit, and she reminds you to go to church. Where you play life by ear, try to be as grown up as possible, and the only words to break you down are “didn’t you hear, Josh is dead”. Years speed by and there you are at 20, 400 miles from home, working a dead end job, and eating ramen 6 outta 7 nights a week, and mom insisting that you call home every Sunday. Where life seems more confining, but more free, more stressful, but more fun. You get your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first real chance at independence. When the only words you fear are “eviction” and “we’ve gotta talk”. More years zip by and you find yourself at 23. Still working a dead end job, still living by your own means, still claiming your independence. You find yourself in love, finally truly give yourself away, but this time to a girlfriend, how faux pas. You realize more about your real self, you open your heart to its true wants and needs, where you struggle to feel like your normal when you were raised to think that a woman loving a woman isn’t, and the only words to be terrified of are “I don’t accept you”. 5 more years flash by, and you find yourself at 28, the love you felt has been betrayed, the person you had loved only holds venom and hate in her words towards you, where her loving embraces turn to angry fists, like wrecking balls to an old abandoned building. Where you want to leave, want to love yourself again, want to feel something other than this empty hollowness inside, when the only words you condemn yourself with are “I can’t leave just cause I’m unhappy”. Age 30 suddenly appears and you realize, you’re more mature, more seasoned, more tattered and torn. You have had love, and had it tear you down and strip you to a shell of a person. Had your heart and feelings punched, shoved, and kicked aside. Had you self-worth doused, ignited, and burnt to a crisp. And somehow you still feel like it’s your entire fault. Like you could have fixed everything, if only… if only you weren’t so selfish to want respect, if only you weren’t so selfish to want your love reciprocated, if only you weren’t so selfish to want to be happy again. Now you stand there looking back on your past. And the only words that terrorize you are “your always gonna be alone”.


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