Submissions by TvMlinar

Maybe you were right,
Maybe I really am the mean one.
Maybe it is my fault,
Maybe I was always the bitch.
Maybe I am the annoying one,
Or even the one who screwed this whole thing up in the first place.
Maybe I am everything you say I am.

But what if I wasn’t?
And maybe I’m not.
What if you were wrong?
What if I was never the mean one?
Or the bitch?
What if I wasn’t anything that people say I am?

What if I was nothing more than
Me?

But to you,
I’ll always be someone else.
The someone that they’ve created,...

All of the rescues,
All of the Barbie birthday parties,
All of the bunny-toy smack down tournaments,
All of the nights of watching you play Prince of Persia for hours,
Along with the many hush-hush words that mom wasn’t allowed to hear.
All of the meetings in our office under the dining room table,
All of the kitchen inventions.
All of the childhood days I’ll never forget,
But I know can never have again,
Though, I think the thing I’ll miss the most
Is being able to come home from school
And having us all be there each night.
Instead of like it...

THE MIRROR,
framed with gold and roses,
engulfed by the pale pink wall,
tries to tell me who I am.
But the girl reflected,
the same girl who made all those mistakes before,
is all I see.

But I’m not her,
not anymore.

I’ve finally come to my senses,
after believing for all these years that this person I saw was truly me,
and always would be.
But the mirror is a liar.
Trying to show us that we’ll never change,
that we’ll always be the same as before,
that we’ll always be that girl who did everything wrong.
He’ll always be...

I can see the tear marks,
on the paper,
through the lamination that covers them.
I can tell your handwriting
from her’s.

You tried very hard to hide all these facts,
to make it seem like it was all her,
that it was all anger.

But it wasn’t just her’s.
It was your book too,
And it was bound by sadness,
not anger.

But now neither of you possess this book,
I took it.
It had a happy cover,
And looked like a fun little photo book of the two of you.
But I was wrong.
I saw what was inside,
I saw everything....

I envy the ones who live in the snow globe,
that cast shadows on my bedroom ceiling at night.
Ceramic figures with painted smiles.
I don’t really envy them,
only the fact they live the snow globe itself.
They don’t have to worry,
about the harsh reality that lies outside of that glass barrier.
They can do whatever they like,
without having to care about how it makes them look.
They get to be care-free,
They get to be protected by the glass,
They get to be happy inside of the manufactured world of theirs.

I hate that.
I hate that I have...