Imperfect

Imperfect

However imperfect the woman is, she is there for you. You are not alone. But you are too set in your ways to realize it. You are too much you to acknowledge her help. She cares. Deep down or not so deep down, you know that. You’ve known that all along. In your past, maybe people have done things for you to get something. She doesn’t get anything besides sadness when she sees how unwell you are. She accepts you as you are, grumpiness and all. You want her to change. She cares for you. Your illness almost forbids you to see anything except how it is affecting your life.

Fitting In

Fit

You don’t fit in. You are no one; everybody thinks that you are nobody, nobody at all. The way you look is not the look they want. They want a different look, something that will be like them. You walk a certain way; you carry yourself a certain way. Your clothes are shabby; they dress with style. None of it is their way and never will be. You can’t pretend to be another type of person. You can’t back down. That will not work. You are out. You are definitely out. The photograph is taken without you.

 

 

In or out

In

To fit in—there is, there always has been, a need to belong somewhere, anywhere. An outsider, she is an outsider always with her nose stuck on the glass window. She looks at all the people who have made it, all the people who are in. They are part of a group and they have the badge to prove it. They have done something, whatever that something was, to make their selves known, to make themselves seen. How can she, this now older person, be herself when her real self is not accepted? She’s just not what is accepted; she’s not what the people want. Her eyes close; a minute or two of rest, of forgetting so she won’t have to think. She is no stranger to the harsh realities of life. Harsh realities have been her companions for a long time—more time than she cares to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Beautiful Soul

Beautiful Soul

A beautiful soul—you once said I had a very beautiful soul. I thought you treasured that; I believed you’d take care of it, that you’d appreciate kindness and good will towards you. Your life before I met you must have been a rough one. You probably had to battle demons inside and out. Your battles with life must have stunned and shaken you. Many of them you could not shake off. Picking up your body and mind must have been a great effort. We met too late for you to change. All you can now do is to be lucid sometimes now and then. The rest of the time you are simply not there for anyone.