Bad Poetry Saturday: “Rip Van Winkle”

Wake up, Rip Van Winkle

I feel like one of those fish 
who swim alongside a shark,
having a purpose,
but never the leader.
I feel like a maid
left to scrub the floors like Cinderella,
dare not to complain
or you’ll miss the Ball.
I feel so small
and insignificant
most of the time,
because success is tied to performance,
of your children,
of your income,
of your job,
and I’m just a woman who stays home,
reliant on a man who feeds her wallet scraps
while he dines on a feast of plenty.
I feel unseen,
unheard,
unwanted,
like a burden,
an obligation,
and a failure
most of the time...
because I don’t have a degree,
because I don’t fit a mold,
because I don’t know
and I’ll never know
how to be ‘normal’.
Independent.
Abundant.
I’m too easily content
for periods of time
until I remember
that I’ve lost myself,
and then I panic because I can’t remember
who I am.
Shadow work.
A dark night of the soul.
The hard stuff, 
before the awakening.
I feel like Rip Van Winkle,
sleeping away my years,
waiting,
to find me again.

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