This Is My Life

Is this really my life?
When I was little,
I envisioned things differently.
I don’t know of any child
who dreams of poverty
and ill-chosen love.

“Oh, please send me misery
and longing for missed chances
when I grow up.”
Like anyone ever said that.

When I was five years old
and starving for love
as well as nutrition,
I don’t remember thinking,
“this is the life!”

At twelve when my mother
dropped me
and a garbage bag
full of clothes
on my dad’s front porch,
I don’t remember believing
this is who I would strive to be.

I don’t remember
thinking at 21
that I would be seeing
the love of my life
for the last time
or marrying the wrong person
five years later.

At 27,
I didn’t think
I’d be struggling
to pay my way
through school
supporting two people
on loans and telemarketing.

And now, at 34,
I never thought
I’d be in this place
where I am still attached
yet alone,
penniless,
and lost
even though I did everything right.

I followed everyone’s rules
and fought my way through
and did my duty
when family said I should.
You would think I’d be happy,
but instead I am hopeless
and fading
and all I see is your face
but I’m stuck
and broke
and a bit more shattered
every day
because this is my life.