in this life
that doesn’t fit her
she slips in and out
of costume
the intellectual
professional
advocating, teaching
smartly skirting
the absence of her profession
toeing a brightly painted
barricade
the suburban
divorcee
in need of extra cash
burning moonlit
candle at both ends
concealing needs
beneath
lauded patience
and efficiency
the exiled
brood mother
conjuring
aspartame-free
nestings
repeatedly booting
cowbirds’ parasitic
resentment eggs
the “call me at any time
I’ll be there to listen,
stage an intervention,
bake or hold your hand,
give you painful truths
to which you won’t listen”
friend
defriended
defrauded when she
calls collecting
attempting to
befriend herself
the partner
flawed and hurtful
hurting
unmoored
awash in
earsplitting
silent recrimination
treading water
on industrial carpet
the woman
defamed and defiled
vilified and reviled
shedding sackcloth
and incendiary ashes
standing naked
before herself
in harsh or
compassionate
scrutiny
Wow… this is powerfully sad. Almost makes me angry
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Kinda ironic
I didn’t feel as much sadness writing this one.
Thanks for the empathy
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We put on many different outfits throughout the day, and the only time we ever take these facades off, is when we are all alone, sitting, in front of our separate dresser mirrors, then, that, would be when we feel most comfortable, letting our true selves show, as no one outside of us is there, to judge us…
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