Laying in the dirt in the fetal position,
I’m cold, i didn’t even grab socks.
Hoping you might look, knowing you won’t.
The moon and the stars, the sticks and weeds,
they hold me while I sob.
I wipe the tears with the dust I came from.
Stupid stuttering thoughts,
each racing to the front of my brain
to see which can hurt me first.
It’s the look of hate on your face
the feel of your hands on my throat, on my face.
The same hands that once loved me,
that made me feel so safe.
What have I done to bring so much hate?
I was in a good mood. Wasn’t I?
I didn’t do anything. Did I?
I don’t have any friends anymore,
maybe it is me.
You say I’m always a bitch,
maybe it is me.
Maybe I need to be alone,
to keep everyone safe from me.
I’m not crazy. Am I?
You called me a nut-job,
maybe I am.
How did I get here, to this point?
I don’t feel crazy. Do I?
I’m not an actor, I don’t know how to pretend I don’t feel.
I’m so confused and scared.
My too old bones and muscles ache this morning,
from the few hours of sleep I got in my truck.
Stickers in my clothes, in my hair.
You still hate me this morning
and the kids are here, I have to smile.
Pretend I’m happy you let me come home.
For the day?
How am I supposed to act when you come back?
Did you mean it when you said get out this time?
I feel like a wasted life.
My only purpose to be a mother.
A walking surrogate.
I’m just the host for lives with purpose.
I had to be so they could be,
and now the universe has forgotten I exist.
I cry and I plead but no one hears.
There are no answers.
I just want to be happy,
I don’t even care if I find love anymore.
I just want peace.
I want to live.
I’m so tired of dying.

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