Growing up, I thrived on being the responsible one. Need something done, someone to bail you out, an issue to be confronted – I was your girl. Until I wasn’t anymore. One day something snapped in me and that house of cards came tumbling down.
Sometimes it’s hard to see the ugly truth and yet, seeing with clarity is the only thing that helps us break the destructive cycles.
You are not responsible for everything. Be accountable. Strive to be self-aware. Know that there is so much more at work than you could ever carry on your own, so don’t even try.
Note to self.
Like Atlas, I bear
the world’s weight
call it responsibility –
a painful delusion
requiring walls
Life has its own rhythm –
light and dark,
joyous and sorrowful –
orchestration outside
of my domain
Love, however,
is limitless
in its capacity –
open-hearted acceptance
protection in itself.
Trading one focus
for another
permits appreciation –
I vow to assert love
and forgo control.
This pedestal of responsibility
elevates me out of reach,
out of touch, lumps together
childrenspousemothersister
Caregiver extraordinaire,
present overcrowded by
obligations, am unwell,
off topic, fed up…surely
I am other abled, have room
for more, non-martyr related –
hesitant to plan, my purpose
for being so intricately tuned
to the needs of others, should
quit while I’m ahead – silence
the noisy uncertainty, free us
all from this unhealthy game.
(Image my own. Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, September 2016)
I’ve decided, he said, to spend
more time doing what I want to do
I feel the load close in around me,
already burdened by his “me” time.
I’ve learned, she said, to look out
for number one; will not be available
Nice, I think, that you have such luxury
while I tend to the children, chase after
my mother’s needs, hold down the fort.
Take time for yourself – interesting counsel
when responsibility is so ingrained, and
self-care comes across as selfish.
Have so long ago erased personal interests,
will have to shop around to find what it is
that would allow me to abandon obligations.
This pedestal of responsibility
has elevated me, out of reach,
out of touch – lumps together
children, mate, mother, sister…
Caregiver extraordinaire
present overcrowded by
obligations…am unwell,
off topic, fed up, surely…
I am other abled, have room
for more – not martyr related –
hesitant to plan, my purpose
for being so intricately tuned
to the needs of others, should
quit while I’m ahead – silence
the inner nag – free us all
from this unhealthy game.
(This poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II
in September, 2016. Edited here. Image my own.)
So my luck –
father’s favourite child,
me, no boy for him…
he drinks –
thousand morning scold –
knows I respect, make peace
and, you’d think
protect them
star – wishing god
was there, us
together, working it.
(Friday is Magnet Poetry online.)
Is the writing on the wall so cryptic –
graphic images depicting rage,
flames of dissonance,
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.
A sad awakening for a society fixated
on rights and privileges, dominating
culture to the exclusion of nurturing
humanity, preserving lives.
How can we continue to closet
our children’s pain – their vitality
oozing – hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?
It is the wall, not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through the cryptic messages
of priorities so divided.
We are guardians,
caregivers charged
with ensuring a future
innocence cradled
in our arms, hope,
like an infant, trusting
our choices, embracing
our decisions; let us fill
our hearts with promise
set our minds to forging
a path worthy of the lives,
not yet weaned, that follow.
Malls possess a certain allure –
contentment-in-a-bag offerings,
an opportunity to escape reality,
except gossip travels in crowds
and I tend to shop for obligations,
will latch myself onto any drama
and take ownership – it’s small
town training:Â I am a passenger
on the responsibility rail – would
kill my own mother to gain lost
authority, be the person in the
know…lose these thoughts of
failure to the distress of disbelief
that we missed the signs, lacked
insight, could have been there for
someone more needy… Have you
seen me, browsing stories? Career
changers are good, fired up youth,
father’s foibles… Don’t be taken
aback, I can be officious, intentions
not misguided – just need to fix one
piece of brokenness to assure myself
all is not totally lost – this shattered
core, this fictional characterization.
How much simpler life would be
if I shopped like normal people,
found relief in mall discounts…
(Image: tropicalcyclocross.com)
