Nothing but a box to play out our tragedy,
It’s been too long but it stays inside of me,
I could’ve lived with the lie if this was how it was meant to be.
It’s over now,
I’ve failed, and I’m sorry...
I don’t want to say goodbye,
But there’s been nothing that I haven’t tried.
Even your face won’t change a memory,
Though I can touch it with my hand,
If I had the courage to reach...
I’ll just lock it away where no one will ever see,
That I’ll be dying inside...
Until I lose my mind.
There’s only so much I can do.
It’s been left up to you.
And if I could take it all back,
You know I would.
But I’ve hurt myself this time,
My hands are tied.
I can’t change the past,
No matter how much I wanted to.
There’s been too many things that I’ve been through.
Pushed myself not to cry,
But I can’t handle it,
KNow the feeling my dear daughter. Sometimes letting go adds more positive growth. Th heart has to mourn a little in order to heal. It's time to wash it free of pain. You've earned it!
Love,
Mom
This puts us to a place where a lot of us have already been. The pain of losing so much of oneself in a relationship is crushing and you captured that pain in this write. Well done Mariah.
Fee
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Love,
Mom
Fee