Porcelain Doll

Fragile like a porcelain doll.

Bright eyes, open wide holding back the tears.

Lips in a permanent smile, never to let the world know the pain.

Cracks held together by glue and hidden by dresses and hair.

Never to let the world know.

Fragile like a porcelain doll.

In the middle

I'm somehow stuck in the middle.
I always have been.
Stuck between pretty and ugly, just average.
Stuck between smart and stupid, just average.
Stuck between happy and seriously depressed, just ho hum.

But because I'm in the middle I just want rage, but really I have nothing to rage about.
My life doesn't suck that badly.
I'm not completely ugly, I'm fairly good looking enough for having had two children and a miriad of health issues.
I'm not stupid, but not brilliant, just in the middle.
I'm not so depressed that I want to do anything stupid, but not happy enough to be happy.

What is wrong with me that I cannot just accept that I'm just me?
Be content with my flaws?
My inabilities?
The cookies will wait until next year.
The Christmas cards just get thrown away anyways.
Everyone knows I'm lying to them when I say I'm fine...

My wish box is empty... again... it always is.... Either my wish box has money in it and my marriage sucks or my wish box is empty and my marriage is living on alcohol. Its the only way.

Dante

Numb, yet still in pain. Wishing to be numb.
No tears left to fall.
One small three letter word, such an easy question.
Without an easy answer...

why?

Wish upon a star

I dont know that I can be the person I wish myself to be.
Does that even make sense?

Inside I see this beautiful serene poised patient woman who radiates beauty from within no matter what happens. But then life happens and I start screaming and crying and life shatters around me. Where is the one I want to be? Will I never be her?

Outside I want to be this small petite ethereal beauty in long dresses with long hair flowing in the breeze.... in reality... I'm short, overweight, curvy, and my dresses never look right. I end up looking dumpy.

Is this the reality of life? always close? but never actually reaching the vision?

Feathers

Like a feather drifting in the breeze along the coast of life.

Some days blissfully floating along the gentle breezes. 

Other days, when the skies are black, the waters blacker topped with churning white caps; the feather is swept along, thrown against the rocks, soaked by the dark waters. Drowning, suffocating. Broken. Left lying still as death on the sands of time.  Giving up is the light at the end of the tunnel, and death itself, all in one.

Without the winds to carry the feather, there is no point to go on.

Sunny days with gentle breezes lift the broken feather back into the air to fly again..... those days are getting shorter and shorter. Further apart, the feather doesn't dry and heal fully before the next storm.

How much more can I take before I fail to rise again?

Does the wind even care I'm no longer able to rise on my own?

Do I matter to anyone?

I'm broken and no one cares. Unable to reach out, though that doesn't matter anyways... The one I need to survive doesn't need me... nor seems to want me.

I know I'm not strong enough to be the one everyone needs.

promises broken

You said you were sorry.
You promised.

Do I mean that little to you anymore?
What am I doing wrong?
What more do I have to do to gain your respect?

The Wall

Banging my head against the wall.
Pounding my fists against the bricks.
My tears drop unchecked to the floor below.

         Harder I pound
               Harder I cry.

Mascara running down my cheeks
The wall grows stronger with every hit.

          Give up,  Give up
                 It whispers in my ear
                        You will always fail
                               Quit trying, you will fail

Scuff marks fron my sneakers on the wall
Pounding on the wall, my hands are raw,
Still I keep pounding.

         Pounding
             Crying
                  Screaming in silence

Occasional cracks form,
Hope springs quickly, stupidly
Cracks disappear back into itself.

       Why? I scream 
            What is wrong with me?
                   What do I have to do?

The wall does not hear, see or care.
It is solid, it is tended,
It has no reason to look outside itself
To the girl screaming on her knees


             I just want to be ENOUGH.
                    I just want to be ENOUGH to be respected.
                              I just want to be ENOUGH to be cared for.
                                          I just want to be ENOUGH to be loved.

                                                                     
                                                I just want to be enough.................