I don't wanna be the one that saves you.
I'm not a criminal,
the thief of your light.
Shine in your own right.
I won't wear a cape
like a noose around my neck.
I won't be shackled by the consequences of
saving you.
I'm not here for that.
I'm not here to own your failures. I have my own.
I'm not here for accolades.
I don't need my ring kissed.
I'm not here to save you.
You don't need me for that.
I'm not here to own your choices.
To pay the price of taking credit
For you.
I'm not here to save you.
I'm just here
to understand.
And to clap.
About the Creator
Sandra Matos
I write so that people will remember me. I make art for the same reason. I had a mother that I never knew. Who she was, how she smelled, or what she valued. I don't want anyone to wonder who I was.
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More stories from Sandra Matos and writers in Poets and other communities.
Forbidden
"When you saw the honey dripping from my lips, why didn't you tell me the sweetness beckoned yours?" "Fear settled deep in my heart, so much so, that my mouth tasted putrid. I couldn't bear the thought of tainting your candied tongue with my rancid jaw"
By Souluminosity43 minutes ago in Poets
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar2 days ago in Feast
Comments (4)
I feel a lot of what you've written here, for my kids and what their expectations are of me and how I can make sure that they thrive independently of me. Sometimes, I feel like they are hesitant to do that and I'm not sure if that is from lack of confidence or not wanting to.
This is really love, although a lot of people don't see it 👍
I love it! Keep up the good work!🥰
I LOVE this! It resonates with me and I feel like a lot of people can relate to your beautiful words. Nicely written!