When you begin to think about all that’s been said and done and all of the effort and sacrifice and start thinking:

What’s going to happen now?

The possibilities are innumerous.

As she lays in bed, thoughts consume her into the night. Hours pass with no signs of sleep to come to the rescue. What happened? She goes over the day’s events, tossing it from hand to hand, feeling its consistency, checking its contents, evaluating it. What happened? She continues to lay in bed as the thoughts keep streaming in without permission, doubling in amount. Worry. Guilt. What happened? She’s ignored so she ignores. She takes things out of proportion to reciprocate what has been done to her. Worry. Guilt. What happened? Oh, nothing. Just a misunderstanding.

tbc

Thinking too much. Different scenarios. Future. What if’s. Negativity. Hope.

I’ve got the Middle Child Blues.

Sometimes it’s better to keep things to yourself.

And then sometimes it’s not.

There is a fear that I can never speak of

A fear I can’t put into words

A fear that’s unidentified at times

A fear that is ever changing

That girl

I was that girl
That girl who tried so hard
Only to end up torn and marred
Damaged
Like the ends of my hair, split
From her so called friends
Trying to find her place in this world
Spinning so much I nearly hurled
Tempted to do just that from tormenting herself with words
Ridiculing her body, thinking to purge
Cleansing my body from the filth I felt I was
And I was like
Dams—built up to keep my tears welled up
From flowing
Why?
Because I can’t
Because I won’t
Because I’ve always thought that weeping was for the weak
But you see
I saw that I was weak
And isn’t it the weakest link to be cut off from society?
So sigh, cross my t’s and dot my i’s
Writing off who I thought I was to embrace who I am
 A young woman who once was
That girl