I have no poetry in me;
in me, there are valleys
full of dark memories,
there are rivers foaming against the rocks,
full of incomprehensible thoughts and anxieties.
In me, there are mountains,
made of challenges I am yet to overcome;
struggles with my sense of self-worth,
fear of the unknown,
a cruel view of my own self.
There are dark clouds made of past mistakes,
threatening and ominous,
obscuring a blue sky full of hope,
the sun shines through,
and love endures.
The smallest things in life bring me joy;
seeing my husband smile,
hearing my cat greet me at my feet,
the smell of fresh pastries,
and the warmth of a cup of tea.
I love using my hands to create;
beautiful little boxes for tidy drawers,
paper flowers that last forever,
crafting, and writing.
I find joy, sometimes bittersweet,
in memories, keepsakes,
and personal treasures that remind me of
a time when I laughed from the heart,
a place where I was filled with wonder,
or a person whom I loved.
I’m just tired
of you treating me
like my father did my mother.
of you slamming doors
and raising your voice at me.
You tell me not to take it personally,
but how can I not,
when I’m the only person around?
brought us closer,
so you want to go far
away from me.
I love you,
but I’m tired.