It Was Not Me Who Chose

My life, with all its jagged edges.

 

 

I never asked you to climb into bed

with your husband’s best friend

in a storm of fur and feathers and wed

yourself to bitter end.

 

I never asked you to drive my father

into that gnarled old tree,

snapping his neck, leaving you to bother

with my sister and me.

 

I never asked you to furrow the soil

and cleave the earth apart,

to spend your days in illusory toil

striking stone with your heart.

 

I never asked you to extinguish light

in favor of the dark,

to deny the daughters that shined so bright

that should have left their mark.

 

I never asked you to sully the streams,

to sin so none could tell

to make a mockery of hopeful dreams

and sentence them to hell.

 

I never asked you to keep your affair

walled up in bricks of lies

that crumbled around you and stung the air

in newborn baby cries.

 

I never asked you to stumble and fall

to wilt beside the rose

to then blame me when you forfeited all.

It was not me who chose!

 

I never asked you for a goddamned thing.

I never asked. It’s true!

How am I to blame for everything

when it was always you?

 

I never asked for your violent hand,

the bruises on my skin,

the striking of your contemptuous band

that played my heart within.

 

I never asked to be burdened and bound

blacker than black is black

to be beaten by hate and thrown around

with marks across my back.

 

I never asked for an ocean of tears

to spill into my heart

to suffer your hatred for fourteen years

at eighteen to depart.

 

I never asked for the snakes in your eyes,

the venom in your stare,

the way you would smite the sunniest skies

and break them in your lair.

 

I never asked for your insanity,

the ebbs that brought you low,

nor the self-narcissistic vanity

no child should ever know.

 

I never asked you for a single thing;

and when my life shall close

and fold in forever its broken wing,

it was not me who chose!

 

 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

Unfortunately, we are not given the opportunity to choose which direction our life goes in so many instances. Circumstance and fate have a lot to do with the things we must endure. The anger in your words is powerful. When bad things happen, we tend to wonder “why me?” No, you did not ask for any of the horrible things you had to endure and yet you were forced to endure them. The trick now is to get past them and try to improve the parts of your life you can. Honest and gutsy, your words are flung on the page like an aspersion against the gods. Very effective poetry.....very courageous! Lydi**

[Gleb Zavlanov]

Very powerful write, and like Frieda P said, one can definitely relate to it. You've put a lot of time and effort into this and bled a lot of emotion while doing so. Sadly, this is a common reality, but with beautiful words as these, people may eventually come to their senses. Spectacular job!

[Frieda P]

Sigh, I can relate to your words, doesn't matter that we didn't choose, we're stuck with the lot of problems that comes with this territory.....extremely disturbing and affecting. Well said.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for reading and leaving your thoughts behind. I agree. It's like being thrust into a duststorm and having the dirt flung upon you. No matter how you try your best to brush it off, it always seems to cling.

[Frieda P]

Unfortunately it's so true, it's that dance of take one step forward and two back. Hard to shake it off when it permeates every cell of your being. My pleasure Linda.

[Pryde Foltz]

I never asked for your insanity,
the ebbs that brought you low,
nor the self-narcissistic vanity
no child should ever know.

A masterful and highly effective write. brava.

[J. Alfred Prufrock]

Lady Van Tassell
I read your featured piece and must say that I was quite impressed with your voice and tone. Your style is reminiscent of early twentieth century poetry, the kind that came out of the transcendentalist movement and the Harlem renaissance, very earthy and emotive. Have you ever read any William Cullen Bryant? Yours is not as melodic as his, but your poem bowed deeply to nature and natural imagery and so I see a relationship there. Well done. Enjoyed it.

Sir Prufrock

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you. No, unfortunately, I have not read any of William Cullen Bryant's work but will be sure to look him up. Thank you for your time in reading and for your review. I look forward to reading more of your work as well.

[Forest Green]

Each line etched in granite, glares out at the stubbornness of the past, the present, the finality of choices.

Well rhymed and metered, flawlessly, in my humble opinion.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you so much. I have seen you online in ages! How in the world are you doing? I hope you had a Merry Christmas. :-)

[Forest Green]

Very merry indeed. :) How about you?

I've begun a new series, and I see you're more polished than ever!

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

It was very good, thank you. :-) Congratulations on your new series, and thank you for the compliment. You're very kind.

[Jack...]

Emotions surge in this sad and hard hitting work. The pain forms in mountains, sorrow flows of dried rivers and the anguish brings it home of the years of torment which has added a bitterness to this life, which should have been so sweet. Very well penned Linda...angered ink paints this masterpiece.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Jack. I was making up my bed on Christmas Eve when the words for the first quatrain just popped into my head. So, of course, I stopped making the bed, mid-way, and ran to write the words down. The rest of the poem just spilled from there.

I know that on a subconscious level, I still have a lot of anger and sadness and a lot of unanswered questions. To be honest, I have a complete lack of understanding when it comes to my mother. I just cannot wrap my brain around the things that she did and then the lies on top of lies that she told to cover it up.

I hate being a grown woman, harboring the feelings of that broken little girl.

[Jack...]

That certainly seems to be a difficult task to carry through life. The bright spot is, at least as far as I see it, poetry. You can release a lot of emotions with poetry and as I am sure you have found, there are so many here who are willing to listen (read) and understand.

This poem was very well written and the first I believe I have read of yours (many more to come). Perhaps you should make the bed more. :)

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

LOL! I make the bed everyday. :-) I'm most often in a hurry to get out the door for work, however. This was an exception.

[emmajoy]

This is such an emotional piece of writing, like someone else's confession and - stanza by stanza, becomes more painful to read. Rather think this is reality very finely put in poem form. In spite of the superb meter, etc. every verse is a wretched scene, black and white with sadness. Want to fly over and hug you..

' I never asked for your insanity, ~ the ebbs that brought you low, ~ nor the self-narcissistic vanity ~ no child should ever know. '

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

You're so sweet, Emma. :-) Thank you for reading. I hope you have a blessed new year.

[emmajoy]

Hugs along with wishes reciprocated.

[Joyce S. Greene]

I am so very sorry, Linda, for all your pain and pray that you are happy now. Your poem was a very striking one and hopefully was cathartic for you. God bless you and Merry Christmas!

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Joyce. It is what it is, my life; and sometimes, the words just have to pour. I hope you had a Merry Christmas and that the new year is blessed with peace.