Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I’m a ‘loser’. Maybe I come from a long line of so-called ‘losers.’ Maybe I won’t amount to anything. Maybe I’m a dime a dozen and there isn’t any real talent inside of me. Maybe I’m just wasting my time. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I am an awful wife who stopped loving a long time ago. Maybe I messed up a few years back. Maybe I still make mistakes.
Or perhaps, maybe I’m scared. You see, I’ve faced those kinds of words for my entire life. Now ask me the one question. Do it. Ask me. I’m in your face screaming for you to ask the damn question. Ask it already.
“Do I believe those words?”
Not really. Nope. Not today, probably not tomorrow either or the next day or any of the days that will follow.
If I believe in one syllable, if I let another person tell me what I am, then how can I decide for myself what I’m capable of doing?
Well, I can’t. It is not for others to see me. I don’t want to be seen. I hide my eyes, my heart, and I’ve spent about 20 years hiding and deleting words. Because of people like you.
There’s a storm a-comin’. Can you smell it in the air? I feel it in my bones.
Welcome to my stirring evocation. It may be a hurricane.
You better board up those windows. Shut the front door. Tie down all your loose ends. Stock your heart and the pantry. Is that whiskey bottle full enough? Check the generator, you got fuel? Didn’t think so. You ain’t ready. Never been ready.
See, but I am ready. Always been ready. Yes, I’m afraid of myself. Afraid of the “nobody” residing in my home. I shake in my boots from the fear of failing. I shiver and my teeth chatter from the cold. My hands ferociously rub both my arms trying to stay warm. I don’t have anyone to keep me warm.
If you walk far enough outside your front door, look up towards the sky. There is an orange glow. It’s got a red tint to it.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.”
It’s time for my sun to rise. The sky is red and the birds are screeching a terrifying call. It is an alert for what is to come. Warning sirens howling and piercing through silence. I hear them. I can’t tune them out anymore.
I can tune out those words, the ones that hurt. The ones telling me I’m a nobody, a never will be, and a never was. I’m going to cast them aside for now. I may fear falling down, I may feel ashamed because I have failed before.
The concrete scraped me up pretty bad when I hit rock bottom. And just maybe, I was the one who shoved me down. Rubbed my face in the dirt and smeared my own name. I can’t do that to myself anymore. Somebody has to believe in the nobody, in the ‘loser.’ Even if that somebody is me.
So, I might be some of those “maybes.” But I can’t believe that hype. Not today.
Sticks tear into my flesh. Stones hurt my heart. Words do hurt me, especially when they are spoken from a person who I thought to be my mate.