Poems

Not enough

Not Enough.

by: Clara Cecilia Cordero

My voice is not loud enough.

My soul is not pure enough.

My hate is not dark enough.

My pain is not real enough.

My tears are not wet enough.

My fears are not scary enough.

My feelings are not powerful enough.

My memories are not pleasant enough.

My hands are not feminine enough.

My curves are not sexy enough.

My thoughts are not valued enough.

My rage is not strong enough.

And so aren't yours.

But by who?

Every-time I feel like this I want to scream. The need to run against the time and vent out what I feel. All odds are not enough to stop me yet here I am stained in pain once again. The tears, the bruises that pain all inside and bottled up. I'm draining all my energy in concealing all the hate and suppress all emotions. I need your help but I won't accept it. I need your love but I won't received. I need your patience but you won't give it. You are all caught up in yourself, looking into the mirror all pleased with what you see. I can't stand the mirror. I don't know that person with or without make up there are two different individuals apart from me. I don't know who I want to be no more. I don't actually care.

In moments like this all I want to do is run. Run like someone was following me, like my life depended on it. I need air in my lungs but yet here I am all balled up on my bed wanting to go to hell. Not closing my eyes cause I'm afraid tears'll run down; drowning me. Maybe I should. I'm scared, but I know it's not scary enough for you. I'm tired but is not drained enough for you. I'm hurt but there's no blood for you to see. It hurts but there's no wounds to heal. I hate you and I hate the world and most important I hate the three individuals that conform who I am. The two different reflection in the mirror and this server, but you see no difference.

That's because you don't know me. You will never do. Cause I'm not enough for you or for anyone. I have expectations, dreams and goals... But you say I don't have what it takes. I scream but I'm bottled by others. I can't believe in god. Cause I'm a sinner and sinners go to hell. I'm supposed to adore this figure in front of me but why? That figure has given me nothing.

I'm sorry that my memory is precise and extend, sorry for reminding you the small things you do or the words you say. I wish I didn't remember everything because the words that from your mouth came are hurtful and they play repeat again and again inside my head like a laundromat drier. The hand that I work with are not the prettiest or the most sensible. They are used to work for you about and around you. But it's never enough. You're never pleased. And I never stop pleasing what you want. My visions and thoughts are not really heard because:

My voice is not loud enough.

My soul is not pure enough.

My hate is not dark enough.

My pain is not real enough.

My tears are not wet enough.

My fears are not scary enough.

My feelings are not powerful enough.

My memories are not pleasant enough.

My hands are not feminine enough.

My curves are not sexy enough.

My thoughts are not valued enough.

My rage is not strong enough.

And so aren't yours.

But by who?

Every-time I feel like this I want to scream, run against time and vent out what I feel yet again I'm balled inside the covers of my bed with pain, tears and bruises you will never see. Because the words you say play on repeat inside the walls that consist of me. And then for a brief moment I remember who I am.

But it's not enough.