This is a poem I’ve been working on (and endlessly tweaking) for the last four months. I can’t seem to get it where I like it, so I thought I would share it here and solicit feedback. Any ideas or thoughts are welcomed.

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Does it ever dawn on you
that maybe
you’re just faking it?

Perhaps you’re just a child
pretending
to be an adult?

That your little feet are in your
mother’s patent leather shoes,
her big bag slung over your arm,
and you’re pretending
to know the right words to say
and the decisions to make?

Playing grown-up
a little too well,
or not well at all.

I feel that way today.

I sit here with a suitcase in the trunk of my car,
wedding ring stashed in the glovebox,
makeup smeared,
and I wonder what I’m doing.

Am I capable of making these adult decisions?
Should I be allowed
to be in charge of my own choices in life?
On days like today,
I don’t believe so.

I wish I could slip out of my mother’s shoes.
I wish I could put down the big suitcase
that I filled with my toys
and my memories,
and go back to being a child.
Carefree,
no one to disappoint,
every step
a grand achievement.

But then I look around
and realize that there is no going back:
this is my life.

My game of pretend
has turned into
reality.

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Thank you for reading,

Victoria Elizabeth