Dear Saturday Morning

You were supposed to be beautiful, full of life.
You’re an old ugly hag.
You were supposed to symbolise the start of new ventures.
But you’re ancient and wear dentures.
The anticipation for you has turned into resentment
The expectations I had, we had….
The build-up. The countdowns.
The plans and tasks we had for you.
You played us, me. You turned on me. Those two words are supposed to be flipped though.
I played myself. I hurt myself.
My optimism and hope.
My paranoia and fear.
Damn me for forgetting my place.
For thinking and wishing for the best.
The gifts you bring dear saturday morning are worthy of my former self.
Am I not good now?
Am I not worthy of pink lace and hot chocolate?
The holiday is over.
The trip to the city is ending, I must retreat to my former self.
Remember my place and stay in it.
I was enjoying it too much, too damn much.
I forgot myself. I played myself.
I envisioned myself a princess.
Dear Saturday morning:
You were supposed to be Spring.
Pink flowers on peach trees.
You were supposed to be life, to be EVERYTHING.
Yet I’m cold.
My tears freeze before they even hit the ground.
My blue lips ache and I remember.
This is who I am.
You didn’t change.
Dear Saturday morning
You did nothing
I did. I put make up on you and forced you to be pretty.
You stood there lifeless but I pushed and pushed.
You were always going to be an old ugly hag.
I’m the one who wished and hoped to change you.
What a silly little girl I am.

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