Written 8/2/20, 7:34pm, 9 days before my 33rd birthday
When a woman isn't valued as the shining gem
That she is.
She's treated less than.
Instead of being her biggest fan,
She's led to believe
By some of the only few she loves that she
Belongs in a New York City trash can.
The damaging psychological
Madness of mind games played as the loser,
Manipulation and foolishly trying again.
Her relenting pen
Helps her remember every single detail
Of how she felt
At every numbing moment.
Virtually dumbfounded in
Every instance of spiritual coma.
Poor, useless attempts at blocking the
Fuzzy blankness disguised as
[Conditional] Love.
Past the brink of exhaustion of
Playing pretend.
There's no serene end
In sight.
Just a blinding light.
Indiscernible.
It's all above her now.
It really always was.
All of the burnouts and meltdowns,
Disappointment and upside down
Frowns.
And then, BOOM!
It all temporarily passes.
Blind control of
Lighted gases.
All women can relate.
Whatever it is to be, will, or was; also
Permeates the stifling room somehow
Like an emotional cloud of carbon monoxide.
Doom in prowl.
Disgusting pride can be a flaw that gets in
The way of it all.
Blocking the only known entrance and exit.
Complexing the fall
From seemingly staged inelegance.
"It's [misogyny] prevalent,"
The women across the world say.
In reference to,
The staggering relevance of a woman's worth
Of today.
Or irrelevance, per say.
Disgustingly not okay.
To still be collectively viewed
Objectively as a predator's property
And an evil's most desired prey.
YOU ARE READING
Survivor's Remorse
PoetrySurvivor's Remorse is a personal collection of poetry, songs, lyrics, prose, and more that ranges from the early 2000s through 2023 when I finally decided to start a new poetry book! Thank you immensely to anyone who has taken time to read this book...
