This poem is about how I feel every morning when I wake up, how I feel that nothing I will ever do will be good enough to get where I want to go. Though sometimes there is a glimmer of hope, it is usually fleeting, and never comes to fruition.
My name is Abigale Louis LeCavalier, a name that was not given to me, a name I chose for myself. Louise is for my grandmother who I loved dearly, I share that name with my mother and my sister. I kept the last name because I wanted it to remain the same as my two boys. As for Abigale, people call me Abby, I wanted something as far away from my birth name as possible, and I always loved that name. I'm not good at writing bio's so I'm just going to tell a quick story. I have seen the movie, The Breakfast Club, probably 100 times, but I remember the first time the most clearly. For this reason. I looked like Anthony Michael Hall(Brian), I wanted to be Molly Ringwald(Claire), but I identified most with Ally Sheedy(Allison.) Now my life consists of trying to make my "outsides" look like what I identify "inside." The hardest thing I have ever done.
Drunk by midmorning
never so discontent
or desperate,
some say crazy.
Perhaps?
Muddled like old macaroni
sitting in the sun,
and yet unattended.
Bothersome;
all this extra skin,
this baggage,
these pieces to
someone else's puzzle
I'm stuck with.
For now.
And crying about it
never helps,
just trails cheap eyeliner
to my lips.
Making a clown
out of a doll's face,
like spoon feeding
a baby;
nothing but mess.
Yet I know
I still have so much to look forward too,
I do!
Just no way to get there.
