Teenage Angst and Tiny Battles

Written September 25, 2011

Bed,

I see you are exactly as I left you;

telling tales of the violent rage

from the girl who battles on you.

You support her wounded body, when no one else does

yet she kicks you, and makes you her punching bag.

And when she throws herself harshly down upon you,

you spring up to catch her fall

and deliver her a comfort

so her tired body can rest, and you can work hard

to hold her up.

And when her dreams are cold and wrathful

she uses you to relay her pain

yet you never point blame.

And when she sobs herself to sleep

you soak up her tears

and listen to her loud cries

when everyone else mutes her sound.

If she actually decides to change the sheets

or make the bed for once

you feel so proud

and make believe she's good to you.

Your battered sheets are a product of her most recent war

against herself and the rest of the world,

yet all her pain,

you endure.

And she seems to selfishly forget

as she abandons you

with sheets still torn

and blankets still thrown

while you patiently wait for her to come back to you

while you wait for her to come back home

and fix the mess she's made

until the next time she has a fit

and you get taken advantage of 

yet again.

Author's Note

This is very angst-y and adolescent, which is why my title almost mocks the poem itself. Though I am firm believer in allowing natural grief and responses to take their course when given a stimulus that sparks these emotions. At the time, this is what I felt and wrote. In this poem I could not decide whether I felt like the girl, or the bed. I think I'm the bed.