rage and recovery

my childhood plays like a movie reel and I hate to remember

and the age old story continues

of leaving and leaving and leaving

and pain behind closed doors. 

i am twelve again and you are gone

and you don't spare me a second glance

as you walk out of my life

for greener pastures and new faces.

i am twenty two and you are gone again

for another pasture,

another mossy grass field,

and shame burns my face

at another example

of how i mean nothing to you.

why does it always feel like

legs pumping and lungs burning

when i think of your face

the face that was supposed to always stay

to never leave

because this bond should go into death

and into the wild beyond.

but children borne of men of cowardice

know many conditions to love

and they grow up to be women of fear

and rage and regret

chasing recovery like a wild pack of dogs.

i do not know if i will ever catch

this illusive feeling of safety

that i so desperately crave.

but i do know that,

while i grit my teeth against the admission,

i still feel like that little girl

who wasn't good enough 

to get you to stay.

and here i am, 

failing once again,

with a brave smile and a clenched fist.

sometimes i wonder if i will always feel this way.

chasing someone who does not want me

who wants me sometimes,

a little,

never enough,

because of you.