Think: who am I BEING with my life?
And make a list
There are things that no one puts on that list…we don’t say “I want to be…”
1. A widow
2. A single parent
3. A welfare recipient
4. A drug addict
5. An abuser
And yet, here we are
So we have to make another list
And put on it the better things. Can we find a step up?
How you want to be remembered.
Where, on that list, can I put down
That I want to be the woman who was wanted?
Does “other woman” work somehow, if I care about him
And accept that he loves his wife
And don’t actually see him in real life?
Where should I list “desperate for love and connection”?
If I’m being honest, in that frightful way that I have, that is a large part of who I am
How I have spent my life
And I know that others remember me that way
Through a lens of disgust and disappointed judgement.
When my husband died, I went insane for a while
Functionally insane, for the most part. I could still do stuff. Most stuff.
I went down paths that I’d never have dreamed of walking
And I danced there. I sat down a while. I probably took my clothes off.
So. Who am I BEING with my life?
I’m a mother. A teacher. A widow. A slut. A friend. A talker.
A singer. A reader. A writer. A dog lover. A cat lover. A comic book movie and tv show fan.
I’m a woman afraid of trying and afraid of giving up. I’m a walking hunk of cognitive dissonance
Too jaded to be foolish, too naïve to be safe
I’m certainly being me. ME. Not trying to be anyone else.
I often say that I want to be different people when I grow up, when I see
Someone acting in a way I admire…but I am not so good at emulation.
Antithesis I can manage…watch what is done and do not what you see
Do, in fact, the farthest thing from observed behavior. Check.
Other than that, my ME hat has been worn forever…all guises left along the road side
But I find myself, as a widow,
Spinning in infinity
Willing to lay my love down
Sliding in sideways
Till I noticed…there is no one there
To offer it to…
And really, I need to stop trying that. So now I say to myself
“I am alone, and I accept that”
And it is terrifying.
Because it’s my only choice: I must accept the things I cannot change
And find a way to filter the sunlight through the rest.