Sneak Peak Into My Closet (Poetry)
Day to day, I keep questioning myself…
How do I express my feelings without offending you?
I guess you should have thought twice,
Before you put me through what you put me through.
How would you feel if I revealed the truth,
The real roots of my PTSD and the rest of my mental issues?
Still today, I’d rather be back at the front lines of war,
Then be on the home front, being repeatedly reminded of my childhood nightmares.
The noisy citizenry is now wondering where, what, why?
Do I dare to even open that door?
The door to my closet, where skeletons lay all over the floor.
Piling up as if I am just a professional hoarder,
My closet is a mess; it’s all out of order with the door half-broken.
I am almost thirty, and I still fear of having children.
The fact I fear the most is being like my parents.
Do I dare explain it on my end?
My emotions have hit rock bottom.
I don’t know any other way to release them without the bottle.
Personally, that’s my problem. Once an angel, now fallen.
I got to try to find a way for my heart to blossom,
before it hardens and becomes rotten.
I am almost thirty, and I still fear of permanent commitment.
My father expressed it with his actions, through his heartless abandonment.
I was never taught properly how women should be treated by men.
I mean, where was he when ma found out I was being molested?
So when a good man is found, I just find a way to end it.
I act as if I have a lack of confidence, but really I am just full of my conscience.
People stress to me that I should let my past go,
Easy for you to say considering you never been in my shoes.
Behind closed doors was a whole different show that was played for the views.
Til this day, I still get the abrupt end of verbal abuse.
Til this day, I’m trying to find a way to heal the scars and massage the bruises,
Without necessary making accuses with my distancing excuses.
So the only way I’ll be able to let it go is if I talk about it.
It’s unfortunate that I never got the professional help I needed as a kid.
I guess my writing and my spoken words are a reaction for what should have been.
Before blame is put on me, look in the mirror and think of the things you did.
This poem reveals that my rage and my resentment, is still alive and kicking’
But instead of beating around the bush with the little white lies, I’m only being honest.
Isn’t that what you wanted? Even if it’s written, although I am feeling a bit smitten?
Is it a crime that I’ve given you a sneak peak into my flaw-filled closet?
My pain through a rear-view mirror, just a bunch of ugly roots.
This was just a preview of a chapter that is to be continued….
How do you say goodbye, to the shit that’s not healthy for you?
Turn off the light, shut the door, and walk away in silent.
I still struggle with it.
Do you swallow that pride and weed out the demons in disguise,
Amongst the rest of the people in your life,
Even if your back is against the ropes and your hands are tied.
Take that bravery and let out the pain,
Tell your story to draw the picture on that paper,
For the next generation’s sake.
You can only be wrong for so long.
Adjust that fist, be ready to punch.
At the end of the day you can only take so much.
People be making me feel like I need to go live in my own world,
Off of a mountain or something.
Starting to get tired of society as a whole for their ignorance,
Hatred, and non-educational judgments.
There’s so many can of worms I could expose,
But I don’t.
I guess it’s a part of me growing and maturing.
It’s not how I want my fifteen minutes of fame,
It’s not how I want my character to impose.
The potential low blows for those
That slows my hope for our humanity…
Even though I have my days of feeling like a ticking time bomb,
It’s not how I want my reputation to compose.