by Erin Ajello
I still feel like less then I should be,
A wannabe real girl,
An imitation woman, but genuine child.
I see everyone else differently,
All of the world actually ready,
Somehow all practiced for what to do in this life.
Every time I feel like less, I let myself wallow in it.
I confirm my uselessness,
I allow myself 24/7 mourning for who I’ll never be.
But I’m slowly realizing who I really am,
What potential means,
That I can decide what happens next.
I am more than a body you touched,
A mouth you kissed,
A heart that beat for you once.
I can do more with these hands than hold yours,
Than pen poems in your name,
Than hold a blade to my skin.
I know this now, as well as that I can let go of you,
I can let myself move on,
I can stop punishing myself for loving you.
Knowing all this may not be the same as doing it,
But it is the first step,
One I’m finally taking.
