Poetry

Walking Out

Where are you?

I know I have to act a certain way

the good wife, friend, mother,

daughter. I remember when I spoke up

and ran away to forget who I was.
Bleeding is an external vision

all the internal gods are turning away

misdiagnosing me with mental disorders

I

I am merely showing more of my 49 years

it gets hard to deliver packages

of love when everyone dissects your words

clothes

shoes

handbags

food

love

why are you running

Well it’s quite a miracle I am still alive

after all my accidents

why are you not running.

I wish I was better at human contact

conversation

I wish I was comfortable in my skin

but I never had three wishes.

My problem is I overestimate people

think we are all the same one love

one tribe

when we are so alienated.

I would rather stay home

write, live in the world

of words

I am too soft .

You can’t convert gays

it can’t be done,

no amount of articles on the internet

can convince me

I see too many rainbows

to understand dogmas.

Some days it is harder to be normal

other days it’s another blank bullet.

I walked out of the restaurant. It wasn’t the first time either.

The last time I did that Greg got me so mad.

Now, my rule is, 

If I’m hurt, I have to look out for myself. I may just be too fragile.

I crack more than others do

I’m made this way.

Sorry, but I can’t be who I was.

I’m not going back.

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