Unrelatable
That is how I feel today
My mind is foggy, and writing feels like I have a million pens but none of them have enough ink, I’m stuck.
Maybe it’s the move, maybe I don’t feel comfortable enough in my new surroundings, maybe it’s a new medication, I will keep making excuses until the day runs out and my eyes droop, thoughts cease.
I hide my true self behind a mask, a facade, a sense of humor.
Why am I feeling so unrelatable?
It’s not the writer’s block, the fuzzy confusion, or the constant fatigue.
The fear of rejection, fear of falling, fear of never finding love.
It’s my past
My present
My future
My past sometimes feels murky and vague.
Conversations muddled
Mistaken opportunities sought after
By a lost self
I was raised by a single parent. My father loved both my brother and me very much, but I had to take on more responsibility than most people my age. I’m not complaining, it made me grow as a person, and in a sad way, did prepare me to live as an adult after my father died. I don’t know what I lost, by not having a traditional adolescence. Sometimes I become jealous and wish I did. I know that my life will not change, and I cannot go back with a pencil eraser and erase uncomfortable things. I just wish people wouldn’t cringe, or avert their eyes when I try to share details of my upbringing. There is no way to describe the piercing emotional pain of lost unconditional love.
Don’t leave me stranded
Because of where I was
Please lift me up
Place me solidly on the ground
Of where I am
My present is like a minefield, everywhere you step there is something else to avoid. Let me talk about my life, please? Let me share my truth. I’ve been told not to compare, but try and relate. Can you? Friends have left, relationships have ended, days have melted one into the next until the year is over and I’m still alone. I cling onto my art, my voice, my poetry – but lately it hasn’t been enough to hold onto. I do not want to be told how resilient, strong, and brave I am. I want to be told that someone is trying to understand. Please?
Dear friends
I’m flying
Don’t let me fade
Give me something
To fall into
I am always cautious to gaze into tomorrow, as I have been told to take one day at a time. My future is moldable, changeable, foldable. What I think it will look like shifts every moment, every breath. Yet, my desires and goals remain concrete. I want to advocate, change, love, and put together broken pieces. I am doing it, step by step, not without hope. I live, floating on the idea that someday, somehow I will help someone else.
What I value about myself is my willingness
Even in the darkest, starkest, frigid moments
I’ve had a window towards the sun
I may not be relatable
But I am
Myself