Categories
Poetry

It’s Hard

It’s lonely when I’m alone
and it’s hard to be alone;
it makes me crazy
and I start spinning
out of control.
It’s hard.
But it’s hard to not be alone,
to be with somebody;
it makes me crazy
and I start spinning
out of control.
It’s hard.
So if you ask me
is it you or me,
it’s probably not you;
I think it’s me.
It’s hard to be me.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

Unsent Email

Every time you hurt me with your words,
I wrote an email
telling you
how your words made me feel
but I never sent it.
Every time you put me down,
mocked me, belittled me,
or insulted me,
I wrote an email
telling you
what an asshole you are
but I never sent it.

Every time you pushed me away,
I wrote an email
pointing out
why you’re alone
and lonely,
but I never sent it.
Today
I looked
at my saved but unsent emails.
Today
I saw
a pattern of behaviour
that I could not accept,
because I am worth more,
much more
than that.
Today
I deleted
those unsent emails.

Today I realized
you aren’t worth it.
Today I finally understood

you never were. 

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

This Is Not Life

They asked if I was depressed
and I told them the truth;
of course I am –
how could I not be.
Humans are social creatures
and I am a human,
therefore I am a social creature,
and now I’m forced to live my life
In front of these monitors.
I can only see other people and places;
I cannot touch,
I cannot feel,
I cannot taste
or smell.
This is not living.
A robot in my chair
would be more productive –
and it would never get depressed.
Of course I am depressed I said;
how can I be otherwise?

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

The Truth Will Set Me Free

The truth will set me free, they said
and then they told me a bunch of lies.
They said I wasn’t pretty enough,
thin enough,
old enough,
or smart enough;
educated enough,
or rich enough.
I wasn’t connected enough
or young enough,
that I’d never amount to anything,
that I’d gone as far as I could go
for far too long.
And I believed them.
But then I looked in the mirror
and saw all my strengths,
my insights,
and wisdom.
I saw my determination
and perseverance,
my dedication
and compassion,
and I realized they were right;
the truth had set me free.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

My Glasses

When I put on my glasses today
I could barely see through the lenses;
So speckled were they with the stains
Of last night’s tears.
I wish I didn’t cry so much;
But there’s just so much to cry about.
I wish the world would stop giving me
So many things to cry about.
I wish everyone could see the world
As clearly as I can
After I clean the stains
Off my glasses.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

Growing Pains

A poet deaf, a poet blind,

Just writing poetry of the mind.

It really doesn’t mean a thing;

A poem to write, a song to sing.

A woman strong, a woman tall;

A woman tow’ring over all.

She doesn’t know now what to say;

She just grows stronger every day.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

The Dishes

I’m sitting and thinking about doing the dishes.
I don’t need to do them all at once;
I can do a few and then take a break.
The water will probably need changing anyway.
That new dish soap looks more attractive, but it’s not as good
And I need to use much more.
In the time I’ve been thinking about this,
I could have started the dishes.
I really should get the dishwasher fixed;
I’ll try to remember to call on Monday.
At least I sent a message to the guy who did my floors,
So he can quote on my stairs.
I hope he’s been okay through all of this;
It’s hard when you’re starting your own business,
Being self-employed during a pandemic,
With a wife and kids to help support.
This situation has hurt so many.
We need to figure out a better way
To deal with these situations in future,
Because it’s going to happen more often –
So the experts say
And it does look that way,
With SARS and H1N1
And now this COVID-19.
Damn, I could have finished the dishes.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Life Poetry

Why Are You Here?

If people come into my life for a reason,

Then why are you here?

Are you here to give me solace?

And to comfort me?

Or to heal my heart and soul?

To touch them?

Maybe you’re here to remind me who I was?

And who I can be?

To remind me I’m still alive?

And still a woman?

The most important lessons we learn

Are the most painful ones.

So why are you still here?

And why am I?

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Life Poetry

A Secret

It was over
Before it could even start,
And I was safe again
Before I could lose my heart

Don’t say a word,
I know exactly how you feel.
I’ll make it easy for you –
I’ll paste the final seal.

I won’t cry
(At least you won’t see the tears)
And I’ll be very strong
No one will see my fears.

Inside my heart
The truth is locked away forever;
No one will ever know
The feelings I had to sever.

Is it goodbye?
I guess it must be so,
But will it make me sad?
No one will ever know.

Creative Commons License
This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Fiction

Unchained

Cindy walked into her condo, slipped off her shoes and slid into her slippers. Leaving her purse on the hall table, she walked down the hall and into the kitchen. She took a bottle of wine out of the wine rack – ah, a Cabernet Sauvignon from Italy; she had heard very good things about this wine and she was looking forward to trying it.

She poured herself a glass of wine and walked through the living room to stand by the floor length glass windows looking out over the ravine behind her building. Everything was quiet; everything was peaceful.
As she sipped on her wine, she thought about how having a glass of wine when she got home was starting to become a habit. She had always enjoyed a glass of wine after work, but usually it was because she needed a way to dull her senses so that she could make it through the evening. Her wine ritual was now a way of congratulating herself for productive day and a kick off to a relaxing evening.

How much her life had changed since her divorce!  She realized that she had almost made the same mistake as her parents; chained for years in a loveless marriage, going through the motions every day and not looking forward to the future at all. What was there to look forward to? More of the same, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Ad nauseum.

She used to ask her parents why they didn’t travel more, enjoy life. The answer was always the same; they were going to when they retired. They had planned to rent a motor home and travel the country, spending their winters in warmer climates to the south. Except it never happened, because they got old and sick. When they died, they had never traveled, had never done anything they’d hoped for. Their lives had been chained to each other, to their children, to the jobs and to the house.

Cindy had been about to make the same mistake. When Robert admitted he’d been seeing someone else and wanted a divorce, she felt devastated; her whole life was coming apart. Then she realized that she had been set free, freed from taking the same path her parents had. She’d sold the house and spent a couple of months traveling, seeing all the places she’d once only dreamt of. She had bought this condo because it was close to the downtown area and she could walk to stores and theatres. She was focusing on filling her life with new adventures.

That meant meeting new people as well. Musicians, writers, and artists were now part of her circle, and they didn’t know the role they were playing, each was had an influence on who she was becoming. Absentmindedly, her hand caressed the silver crucifix nestled in the small of her throat. The delicate chain and crucifix were a gift from Robert several years ago, and she had never taken it off.

Reaching up, she undid the clasp and held the necklace in her hand. She loved the delicacy of the tiny chain and the crucifix held so much meaning for her, since she had always been Catholic. It was also a constant reminder of Robert though and represented another type of chain she supposed. Without hesitation, she gently tossed the necklace over the balcony railing and into the fading light of evening. The last chain to her previous life was gone.  

She was finally free.

Creative Commons License
This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.