Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

I Mean Something To Myself

Lost in the woods,
lost at sea,
looking deeply into the eyes of my ouija board,
but never getting a glance back,
or an answer that makes my heart happy.
Even my ghosts have stopped haunting me.
It’s easy to be over it,
when you’ve never meant anything to anybody,
but I survived for a reason,
so a little part of me thinks I mean something to myself,
and maybe I owe it to myself to make my every waking nightmare mean something,
other than confusion and slight anger.
Slow and steady wins, apparently, so,
I’ll slowly navigate at my own pace,
staring at my own face as I fall asleep each night,
bird on the wing, building some kind of life that one day, she will quietly admit is worth living.
This is the end of romance,
but it doesn’t have to be the end of me,
because, like an accountant who dreams, backstage at a Broadway show,
there is a lot more to me than there is to me,
so, so what, if I never meant anything to anybody else?
I’m sure that I’m old enough to fly alone,
to dine alone,
to write verses about me, myself, alone,
because truly,
I am the only one who has never disappointed me,
never disappeared when I needed me most,
so, so what, if I never meant anything to anybody else?
I mean something to myself.

One thought on “I Mean Something To Myself

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