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The Only Way Out

by Becky Curl 2 years ago in sad poetry / social commentary / love poems
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And isn’t it something, how we are brought up to reach for the stars, But they always make sure the stars are just right outside of our reach.

The Only Way Out
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Some days it looks like the only way out is through suburbia.

And a white picket fence.

Two smiling children.

One very friendly dog.

A businessman husband who works so you don’t have to.

A smile so bright.

It’s painful.

It all seems so fucking painful.

A diamond ring as big as the hole in my heart that I created the day I gave up everything.

The day I traded in green hair for blonde.

Leopard print for peonies.

Black lipstick, for a sweet, approachable pink.

The last day I ever listened to music that meant something.

So that I could forget all of the years where my life actually meant something.

When I actually meant something.

And isn’t it something, how we are brought up to reach for the stars,

But they always make sure the stars are just right outside of our reach.

I have been grasping for change and dreams that have lately looked like nightmares.

While my nightmares have been looking like home.

The arms of someone I know who does not actually care about me have been looking a lot like home.

I used to think that making it meant I found something I was good at, and I thrived.

And I loved it.

What happens when all you do is love,

But there isn’t enough love in this world to make you good enough?

How can you ever make it, if you don’t even have the means to make in the first place?

I have never been one to win first place.

Second best or participation have always better suited me.

I always hoped a life of mediocrity would not be the one for me.

But maybe that’s my soulmate.

My true companion.

The long sought-after one for me.

Maybe he’ll buy me roses.

And I’ll place them on my bedside table.

Next to the ring that I can’t wait to take off each day.

Next to the photo of two people I can’t even recognize anymore.

Next to a glass of water that is almost, always a little empty,

But just full enough to pass for half-full at first glance.

And I will watch the petals fall.






Each evening as I recall

The moment when everything


I have always been half-empty.

Somewhere between your destination and your middle ground, you stopped.

And you found me.

About half the person you had ever wanted.

About half as beautiful as you had always dreamt of.

And about half of the soul you always pictured as your mate.

I don’t know when good enough became


But maybe it is a good thing that it finally did.

Maybe it is a good thing that someone finally caved.

Maybe it is a good thing that you took from someone who was already halfway gone,

So no one would ever have to know your


I would

I am

I will always be

One of your


sad poetrysocial commentarylove poems

About the author

Becky Curl

Freelance Writer. Freelance Make-Up Artist. Teacher. Wig & Make-Up Designer. Coffee, dogs & pop-punk are my life.

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