I don’t have a life:

I exist in the corners

Of the lives of others

Kind enough to lend me space.

No, don’t shake your head,

Protest and frown,

Condemning me for self-pity.

It’s true: the words say it all:

Wife, daughter, friend, mother.

They define me by my

Relationships with others.

My name: a jumble of sounds

Meaning nothing in themselves,

A label by which to identify,

Quantify, stratify and forget:

Put me in my box

And hope I stay there.

Me, I reduce my name

To a single initial.

It takes up less space, less attention.

And maybe, just maybe

Beyond all names

I may shine, alone.


7 thoughts on “V

  1. Okay I will put you in a box and carry it to the edge of the ocean and scream at it,”high tide is soon so you better get your @$$ out Veronicabecca Bunga! “.

    Well at least you used a capital letter.

    Some of the honest things you have shared about your nonlife have meant a great deal to me.



  2. You’ll be pleased to know this is an old one but it’s part of the stuff I am working through, this being defined by what others say I am or am not.
    I shall be going back to the hall of mirrors soon and trying to work out which of the reflections, that is, what others see me as, are accurate and real.
    peace back atcha!


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