I won’t accept that it is within my control to change and I will continue on with this feeling of being deranged.
Because sanity does not feel like something that is within my range to obtain.
I wake up and try optimism,
Just to sit down and be crushed by claustrophobia,
Caused by this desire for escapism,
And encouraged by my own phobia,
That this life could mean so much more,
If only I step up to allow it to…
But the strength it takes makes me weak,
And the persistence it requires makes me drag my feet,
As I seek to compete with the very image that provides my defeat —
An image of a woman who is strong and is in for the long haul,
Dedicated to a purpose and driven by nothing less,
With enough intelligence to know when to call it quits,
And accept that this life is what I make it.
But I don’t want to accept the progress,
And I hesitate to not applaud where I digressed,
In order to take the path that shouldn’t be traveled,
And dive into the thoughts that should not be harbored,
Because there is something in me that does not want to be free,
And there is something encouraging me to deny this ability.
I can’t stop this lack of motivation as much as I can’t deny my distraction.
I won’t accept this choice and I will continue to deny the sound of my own voice.
Because it is too much to bear and the disappointment I find in myself is leading to despair.
I go to sleep with a head full of pessimism,
Not allowing my thoughts to be a friend,
Encouraging everything to bring me down with the best of them,
And pouring my feeling of frustration out of this pen —
Because I never seem to change,
And I no longer claim it to be a mistake.
Since it is obvious that I chose to be estranged,
And this is what I was willing to take.
I accepted my defeat years ago,
And came to see that I am incomplete,
As long as there are secrets that I insist on keeping,
There are struggles that I continue reaping,
And thoughts that will prevent me from sleeping.
I can’t stop,
And I won’t accept,
Because this life is too much to expect.
Today was the day he made her see that she had changed — for the better or worse was still to be determined, but she had indeed changed. There was a stark difference between the way she spent her time these days. She was out of the house constantly, would return home exhausted and smoke herself to sleep in order to wake up and do it all over again. She was raising her voice more often and visibly frustrated with whatever she experienced while she was away from home. She was packing suitcases and unpacking them again just to allow them to sit on her floor for a week and be packed up again. She was always tired yet always moving and she never seemed to stop and play fetch anymore. She was finally moving again and she had finally admitted defeat to the strain of boredom. Continue reading