I Am Not

am not cookie dough.
You can’t just find your favorite cookie cutter,
hidden in the cabinets,
long forgotten from my childhood,
and press me into who you want to see—
what you wish I’d turned into rather than what I’ve become.
am not cookie dough,
and I am not sorry that you can’t handle the warped finished product.
You burned the cookie.

am not a quilt.
You can’t just take your favorite fabrics,
your favorite pieces of me,
and sew them into a pretty little blanket.
Crisp edges and bright colors with wide fields of May flowers preceded only by mild April showers.
am not a quilt,
and I am not sorry that you’re unhappy with the aesthetic of a frayed, storm-torn, barren cluster of scraps.
You fucked up the stitching.

am not a military contract.
You can’t sign up for 18 years,
serve your time,
and choose not to reenlist when shit goes south;
decide that you don’t want to re-commit because the state of my psyche has declared WWIV.
WWIII was mandatory—
year 16 or 18.
Damn.
So close, right?
I am not a military contract,
and I am not sorry for the wars you let happen, contributed to.
You were blind to the red flags.

I am not your “smiley baby girl.”
Not anymore.
You can’t just stick your head in the sand,
watching the clips of the past in the recesses of your mind.
She’s dead;
she has been for ten years.
What’s left is the husk of the creature she wanted to be.
I am not your “smiley baby girl” anymore,
and the only thing I’m sorry for is the burden you place on others in picking up your slack because you can’t face the truth.
You let her slip away.

I Always Learn the Hard Way

I always learn easy lessons the hard way.
Genetic flaw, it’s been said.
Not untrue, I suppose.
Take a look at both sides—mother and father.
I… just learned much faster than my mother this time.

“I promise you, things will change.”
Ignorant, youthful hope.
Blind, unyielding faith.
Socialized, cult mentality idolization.
Call it what you like.
But through the eyes of an eight-year-old,
it was simply the yearning for the same father that every other kid had.
Regardless of which option you choose,
Hindsight is always 20/20.

I expected so much more.

The blazing mid-year months just after navy blue caps and gowns.
Another whirlwind of corrosive words; I spat my fair share.
World War… V, now?
The Non-Aggression Pact has been drawn.
Both Allied and Axis powers, each only one country strong, sit with the mediator.
She is silent.

“You never said anything.”
The Axis took on a gentle tone.
The Allied power was lulled into a false belief of fault.

“You’re right; I’ll try harder.”
The Axis claims victory;
A replication of World War III.

“We’ll both try harder.”
An illusion of concession.
The Axis power is cunning.
And though my obedient mind is nearly free from its collar,
I, again, find light where it has long faded away.

I still expected so much more.

Desperation.
Fear.
Disorientation.
Clumsy fingers fumbling, fighting, to spit jumbled masses of text.
Hands tremble and fold.
The mind’s eye falls blind.
The weakened arms of cognition fall just short of the words they seek.

‘Phone call…’

No hesitation… no where else to turn.
The Allied Power seeks out the Axis.
The lips mimic the fingers—fumbling to spit jumbled, broken thoughts.
The Axis responds the same.
The words of the Allies fall on deaf ears.

World War VII, worse than World War VI.
No mediator, however;
The Allied power has grown
While the Axis has remained the same.
They now stand on equal ground.

Stalemate
.

You did not change.
You have not changed.
You never will change.

I should have learned long ago not to expect much more.