Bad Habits

I love you

the way I poison my lungs:

all at once and too much.

Just to abstain,

refrain for days or  for weeks.

To show that I can

and to prove,

dependency does not run

in my blood.

But I can choose to enjoy the rush.

 

I have become: <

The less than sign is a symbol of inequality

used to compare values.

And I can feel myself bending into this.

I have somehow become less than.

Less than the girl with anxiety and insomnia.

Less than the attention seeking manic depressive.

Less than self loathing,

self depricating,

and overwhelmingly “NOT ENOUGH”.

Because at least back THEN,

I was something.

There was a weight on my chest

that I know weighed more than me,

because as soon as it left

I realized that NOW I am empty.

So I pray that my smile is a semi colon.

A pause between two thoughts,

that I am not

THEN and NOW

but perhaps

THEN and AGAIN?

THEN and..

When?

 

Mouring the “What if…”

 

It took me three years to learn how to mourn you.

You see, it wasnt saying good bye that was hard.

I never got to.

And it wasnt realizing that I dont remember the exact shade of your eyes,

or if theyre as close to mine as I tend to say.

 

It wasnt accepting you wouldnt walk me down the isle.

Because it never occured to me that you would.

You’ve been gone for over three years.

But you left way before then.

The last time you saw me I was ten years old,

with gangly legs and gap teeth and too many freckles.

The last time you called me you said “my child”

and I replied “yes Ed?”

Ive spent three years learning how to mourn you.

So I have mourned the high school graduation you did not attend,

and shortly after the bootcamp graduation-you would never have guessed.

I have mourned the childhood you saw in glimpses

and the teenager who became a stranger.

I mourn this young woman you would not recognize,

(except maybe by the shade of her eyes?)

NOT because she is lacking from your absense.

But because she deserved a father’s presense.

It took me three years to understand my grief.

It will take me three more to forgive you.

I have mourned the “what if’s?”

What if you were here right now?

What if I became worth coming around?

What if you saw me grow, and I still made you proud.