Pale Blue & Tear-Stained Pillows

I lay here a shadow of who I normally am…who I sometimes pretend to be. I put on a smile, I laugh off the pain that I feel at words and actions that some people say without thought to anyone but themselves. I drive myself home in a state of numbness, merely driving to seek escape. But when it is dark outside and I have found my way in to my loose, comfortable pajamas I can sneak in to my pale blue painted bedroom and let the tears fall.

And they do fall. And they take the mascara and the memories with them. And as every drop runs down my cheek and on to my old pillow I yearn to be free of the words and actions and attitudes of those who matter most. My rosey cheeks that are usually the envy of the few who notice me are now not so worthy, but are wet and wanting. And oh my pillow – she knows it all. She has felt every single painful tear as it rolls out of my body. She knows the hurt I feel and the emotions I bear. Only she knows.

Would it hurt for someone to return my love just once? Once is all I am looking for. Would it hurt for someone to reach out and hold on to me as if I matter? I don’t know. I may never know. The thinking stops as my head pounds as if a million hammers are drumming on me to the beat of my regrets. All thoughts leave except one: I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I never will be good enough. And the tears keep falling as if to entertain these lonely pale blue walls…because no one else is watching-that is certain.

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