New Years

Like parasailing-

Floating.

Happy.

Free.

Exhilaration.

And then the wind is suddenly gone.

All these dreams, these hopes

crushed by the unavoidable reality

that I can’t be her.

I won’t hold your hair back,

answer your phone calls

explaining to the boss that you’re “just sick”.

I can’t pick up the pieces

after you tell me I’m the worst

you’ve ever known;

that I’m a bitch. Lazy. Unloveable.

Push me down a flight of stairs,

your baby within me.

Hit me, hurt me;

anything to protect them from you.

I’ll take the brunt. Be the punching bag,

if it means she’s safe.

I won’t be her. That cycle ends;

like parasailing, without the wind.