“Look alive,” he always said.
How do I look alive when
you make me feel so dead inside?
Where did I go?
Will I ever know
how you slowly took pieces of joy out of me
and called them stupid wastes of time
and I believed you?
It took over ten years, but almost all of me believed you.
There was a tiny piece I hid away, saving for a rainy day,
knowing I had to come back to it somehow
that this was just a part of life to get through
Marriage, house, kids . . . years flying and dragging.
Dragging me along with them. Ripping at my skin, chipping away.
Will there be anything left?
And when will this be? The Golden Anniversary?
I can’t wait.