I wish I could be those people, the strangers who just walked into your home, welcomed with open arms and genuine smiles. The visitors who feel loved for their existence.
I hate being inside your home, where I am expected to feel approval because of my place in the family. Assumed to know you want me here because I’ve been here before.
Because I am not at all sure. I’d give anything to know it was true.
I don’t want to do anything wrong. That is what I concentrate on when I am around you. Step far enough. Not too much. “She didn’t clean up after herself” and I remember the shoes I left in the hallway. “He never cleaned the kitchen” and I scrub every dish in the sink. Please don’t let me be one of those people you talk about later, I silently wish.
Sometimes when I am desperate and especially vulnerable, I don’t care so much that you do want me here, but it would be so terrible to know for certain that you did not.
Take that away. Bring some of it back. Just tell me what to say and think and feel and I will do it!
And then you do, and I hate myself for responding like an eager puppet, lifeless without your dictation.
I envy your strangers, your guests, your friends. I wish I could be anything... other than your family.
3 comments:
With every word, I felt like you were saying exactly what I've been thinking and feeling lately. You express things so beautifully; so poignantly. When you publish your first book, will you send me a signed copy??
Yes, yes, yes, Carlyn...how's the book writing coming along?! :) I only wish I could write as good as you...these are not just blanket compliments...you have an amazing talent, girl!!
Post a Comment