For the Record
--
Poetry
Let me preface by saying that you don’t want
to follow in my footsteps but instead tread the path
running adjacent, the lower road, because as it goes
the high road is not always the most ideal.
I’ve been called a doormat and a pushover,
every niggling attack against my character,
all because I take “being nice” too seriously
and don’t want to get on anyone’s bad side.
“Do me a favor,” though, results in frustration
because all I can think of is how I’ll lose out
in this deal that does not benefit me at all.
But “be a good girl” and “play nice” have always been
my greatest downfalls, bar few other elsewise.
I’m the shoulder to cry on, the apt listener,
the mountain for others when in fact I’m a rock
that’s eroding from the inside-out slowly but surely.
*
I’m the stepping stone, the last to be called,
the one who receives an invite too late,
but when someone needs something
it’s me to the rescue when I can barely
even bother to save myself most days.
But no, I’m the superhero without the fame,
the guru who doesn’t know a whit yet
everyone wants a free therapy session.
I said I wouldn’t disparage others, no siree,
yet here I am pouting in prose fashion
because I can’t use my voice to say,
“Stop using me, stop taking advantage,
stop looking to me to be your savior.”
I’m not asking for medals or honors;
I just want some peace for myself.
Don’t you think you’d want the same?
*
But I’m still unseen, even to the “friends”
who would pass by me without a word
