I had a nice conversation with my sister and I was surprised because I wasn’t looking forward to it. Afterwards my father called and I dreaded answering the phone. I thought he had found out, and I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with him. I was tired and I just really wanted to take a nap before I had to go to work. It turned out he thought I was at home. If I was he would have asked me to put a patty in the oven for him so that it could be ready by the time he got there. We hung up after a few seconds and I was relieved. He didn’t know. Maria hadn’t called him. I put my head back down on the back of the couch and closed my eyes again. I had about two hours to kill. I drifted to sleep.


There are some faces I don’t like to see
Because they remind me of me
When I loved myself,
When I thought there was nothing wrong
With me
And that I was perfectly fine
The way I was.

They smile a bit too happily,
And they walk with their heads
A bit too high,
Like they don’t give a damn
What anybody thinks
Because they’re okay
With who they are.

I envy them a little.
More than a little.
I wish they’d teach me
How to do that.
How to be so confident,
And how not to care
About anyone’s opinion
But my own.

But they must have taken
Expensive private lessons
That I can never afford,
Because how come they can do that
And I can’t?

That was the first time she had…spoken to me, looked at me in the eyes, smiled, and spoken to me. She had asked how I was and I told her I was okay, recovering from the shock of the experience. She had never looked at me quite like that before, and I didn’t think she ever would, that it was in her nature to do that and seem so sincere. She moved along and spoke similarly to another one of us, and that didn’t surprise me as much because she had known him before. I watched her walk away, still wondering why she did that. Why she looked at me, smiled, and asked how I was.

Who Taught Us to Lie?

Who taught us to lie? Where did we learn that we couldn’t be honest with our feelings? That we had to hide them in order to appear strong? Who taught us that we needed to be strong? If a man loves a woman why can he not tell her right away? Why does he have to walk around her? Why does he have to maintain a false image of strength and independence? Why does a woman have to do the same? When did we build our sheilds? Who made our armour?

The reason we, I worry, and cry, is that I misunderstand. I don’t know. The reason I don’t know is that I am not told. I have to be kept unaware of secrets that float over my head and feelings that concern me. The reason I worry and cry is that I have things on my chest that I cannot say because I know they will not be received well. I know that I will not be accepted, that my sanity will be questioned. I lie then, and I tell almost everyone who asks that I am fine, doing okay. They seem to believe, but I know they don’t care. That saddens me though, because I care when I ask. I guess I am in a one-sided love.

But who taught me to lie? Who taught me that I had to be okay?

At first I wrote because I could,
And I would feel good when I was done.

Then I wanted to share,
And I did,
And some hearts fell.

But then I started to worry.
I thought I needed more.
I need more hearts,
I need more love.
Will they like it?
What will they think?

And so my self gave way
Beneath the stampede
Of my thoughts,
My anxieties
And frantic worrying
About what other people thought.

That’s why I came here.
I’m trying to start again,
To write for me,
To let my heart flow out,
And do so freely.

I will counts the hearts
That come to me
I know,
But I’ll try hard
Not to fall.

I’ll try hard 
Not to fall for them
And think that they love me,
Or they don’t.
I’ll just write,
Because I need to.
I really need to,
But I also need someone to hear me.

So even though I don’t know who you are,
Please hear me.

I mistake attention for love.
Look at me and I’ll think you care.

I expect things,
And hurt when I’m failed.

But it’s getting enough.
It’s getting enough to teach me,
That you are not different.
You will fall,
Just like I do,
And you will hurt me,
So I should expect it.

This earth is filled with people,
And we don’t have room
In our hearts
For all of them.

I understand.
You can’t love me
The way I’d like.

I understand.
I’ll try not to cry

My day isn’t new.
None of my days are new.
I hope they’ll be different.
I intend to make them different.
But intentions are all I have.

I keep falling down
Into the same pit,
The same spot
Marked out with the roundness of my buttocks.

There is no new path
That I walk on.
There is no new song that I sing.

I make wishes
And I hope they come true.
I throw up short prayers
And kind of wonder
Whether or not they’re accepted,
Whether or not they’re good enough.

I repeat myself everyday
And become tired 
From running in circles,
But I never stop,
Not completely,
No matter how many times
I tell myself
That I should,
That I have to.

I think I’ll get tired of it
One day,
One day soon.
But for now
I’m not dead yet.
I’m not alive either,
But I haven’t stopped existing.

I keep thinking that with time
Everything will work itself out.
It probably will,
But I can’t see that,
And I don’t trust it.
I don’t think I’ll get better,
Not really.

I’ll just learn,
Like everyone else,
How to pretend,
How to smile and not mean it,
How to convincingly say
“I’m fine.”

I will.
I’ll learn.
I’ll learn how to be good.