once we were sisters
i remember
when you said
i was your favorite,
now you're no
longer in my life;
i remember sitting in your
car my hair dancing
wild in the wind and our laughter
mingling together with sunsets and the stars—
i have always wondered if you think
of me,
because once we were sisters
now we're just ghosts;
i don't understand why we bury the
living
when we're both still alive—
some people are so okay with letting me go,
but i am never okay with losing people;
always makes me feel as if i have failed
sometimes they say people
aren't forever
but i wonder if they ever tried to hold onto
friendships and love instead of their egos—
some people may be toxic,
but some people are just learning how
to function through their pain;
and in your absence i find that i trust no one
who promises they'll always be there.
all you gave me was rage
you invalidated
my concerns, my
worries, and my trauma;
but now you're confused
as to why we don't
often speak?
you can read my journal,
and instead of getting some
self-reflection you decided
to punish me for my feelings;
and take things away from me
that gave me joy—
you refused to let me lock my door
when i was angry so i could cool
down because it was your house,
and you used to yell and belittle me
until i couldn't hold in the tears any longer;
you were never sorry for hurting me
just sorry for the tears that spilled forth
out of me—
never took the time to get to know me
only judged me,
i still get nightmares of you
as a grown adult because the trauma
runs deep;
i didn't have depression because i stayed inside
a lot—
i had depression because all i wanted was
to be a good daughter,
and you wouldn't even acknowledge me;
you used your authority as a weapon in order
to demand respect you never gave then got angry
when i refused to cave—
all i needed was love, all you gave me was rage
Poetry Feature for Linda M. Crate from the AnthologiesNew poems from Linda M. Crate “all i wanted is to be loved” “i’ve outrgrown you” and more5 poems by Linda M. CrateSeveral new poems by Linda M Crate
i felt loved
until one day you
decided you didn't like me,
and i don't know why
you just chose to dislike me
one day or what i did wrong;
but you never cared for
me again because you stopped
being nice—
& you were only concerned
with how i made you feel and your feelings,
and you didn't feel bad for any of the
cruel and rude things you said;
unless i couldn't hold back the tears
as i so often did
because you said i was too sensitive—
everyone says you're a good man,
but you weren't always good to me;
it wasn't always awful until you decided
to make your pain a weapon and launch it through
my heart—
you refused to let me have any peace
or privacy and all i wanted was a place where
i could thrive and grow,
all i wanted was to be loved;
but instead of getting a father when my mother
married you
all i received was a monster who wanted to
control me and break my spirit with his wounds.
i've outgrown you
you are kind now
like you were when you
first married my mother,
acting as if you can sweep all
of your crappy past behavior
under the rug just because i'm
an adult and no longer live
in your home;
but i remember all your nastiness
and how you cried once because
my mother wouldn't let you punish me—
you never let me get away with
anything,
never celebrated my accomplishments,
and never went to any of my graduations;
but i see you let my sister get away
with everything,
celebrate her achievements,
and go to all of her graduations
the favoritism is real and real apparent—
flesh and blood means more to you
than your step daughter,
but it's cool;
i've learned to love myself
don't need the father that never loved me
no longer want nor require your validation
like i did when i was a girl
because i've outgrown you.
i don't accept your apology
i don't even remember how
our friendship started
any longer,
but it was probably always
toxic;
didn't realize you were a narcissist
until we were both adults—
for so many years
i watered dead plants waiting
for you to care about me,
but one day i began to realize
you were using me for your own gain;
didn't care about me except for
what you could get from me
always tore me down from my dreams
and demanded more of my time—
so i walked away from our
garden of friendship
because i realized i deserved peace,
and i will not feel guilty about it;
don't owe anyone an explanation and if they
ask i will just say we grew apart—
but you were part of the reason i never felt
good enough no matter how hard i tried because
i wanted to be a perfect friend,
and you took me for granted until i left;
but then you wouldn't respect boundaries
so i blocked you & then you badgered and bothered my family
until even my mother and sister resented you too—
so if you're reading this,
i am not sorry;
and i don't accept your apology.
done poisoning myself
so many years
i felt like
the snake whose neck
you snapped when you threw him,
and i begged you not to;
i just placed that little garden snake
back in the grass but you had to kill him—
he was just trying to live his best life,
but you couldn't stand the sight of him;
& still i remained your friend
even if in that moment i wanted to throw
you into the sun—
i guess i should've listened to my instincts
because you turned out to be a bad friend
always taking more than you were willing
to give,
never remembering my birthday,
always wanting free books once i started
getting published,
it was always about you even when it was about me;
so i decided one day i was taking my peace back
and making you a part of my past—
i was done poisoning myself with your toxicity.
let people find their happiness
they say
worldly things
don't matter,
but they do;
i still have the last letter
my uncle sent me
before he died and the last gift
he ever got me for christmas—
couldn't fight off his demons,
so he took his own life;
and i miss him
every moody and gray day
i think of him and the shade
his blue eyes
sometimes shifted to—
don't tell people the things they
cling to don't matter,
sometimes the weight of the world
is dense;
what you see is trash is a treasure that
holds them together like glue—
unless they're hoarding things they don't use,
what is it to you if someone has a box full
of old letters or too many books spilling over
their bookcase or collect things that remind them
of the people they love or those they miss?
let people find their happiness where they can.
Bio: Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has seven published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019), and the samurai (Yellow Arrowing Publishing, October 2020), and three micro-chapbooks Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018), moon mother (Origami Poems Project, March 2020), and & so i believe (Origami Poems Project, April 2021). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018). She also has three full-length poetry collections, the latest being You Will Not Control Me (Cyberwit, March 2021).
saw a video where a woman was blaming mental illness on a lack of faith, and insisting that it was the fault of demons;
can we not push harmful narratives that aren’t true when mental health is still a stigma no matter how much we speak of it?
she said it was just her opinion when people called her out instead of owning up to her mistake,
and it just is exhausting to see people be so willfully ignorant;
inherited my anxiety and my depression from my mother but that doesn’t make me a bad person or unworthy of love and care.
it’s so obvious
you said it was all the time i spent alone that made me depressed, but honestly it was you making me feel like no matter what i wouldn’t be good enough;
tried to be a good daughter but you wouldn’t let me be anything less than a burden to you and you made me feel as everyone saw me that way—
when i stopped trying i was then criticized for that, too, as if no matter what i was going to be the villain in your story;
you were the adult and i was the child but somehow your feelings were more valid than mine
in your eyes—
you always invalidated my stress, my fears, and my dreams;
then you wonder why we aren’t close? it’s so obvious.
i didn’t need everyone to like me
i was bullied relentlessly always even had a guidance counselor tell me if i weren’t so weird i would fit in with my friends, and it was that day i promised myself i would always hold on and value my weird; because i decided i was worth being me a long time ago— because once i did try to fit in, yet nothing i did ever earned the love or respect from my peers that i so craved; and i realized that not everyone’s opinion mattered and i didn’t need the friendship of everyone.
i am worthy and i always have been
there are some people who walked away that still haunt me
used to think that i wasn’t good enough to be loved,
but sometimes you just have to pull yourself out of that bed with that last bit of strength you have and push on because some people who promise you forever walk away;
they don’t always give you closure or a reason—
just disappear from your life becoming a ghost whilst you’re both still living,
and i have to admit that some days i can ignore it and other days it weighs heavy but i have realized it has nothing to do with me but everything to do with them;
i am worthy and i always have been.
we didn’t choose it
every school is against bullying until it comes to doing something about the bullies
they won’t step in and help you,
and they’ll make you feel as if it is your own fault that you’ve been bullied;
but it is not my fault that other teenagers were riddled with insecurities and decided to take it out on me—
i used to laugh and talk loudly until they bullied me, and now i am so soft spoken that people complain;
i was asked out as a joke and ostracized one day by my friends for no reason at all—
they told the guidance counselor that i just followed them like a puppy dog and was “so weird” and the guidance counselor blamed me, too;
it angers me that those that are wounded and hurt are blamed for their own pain because we didn’t choose it.
Bio: Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has seven published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press – June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon – January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019), and the samurai (Yellow Arrowing Publishing, October 2020), and three micro-chapbooks Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018), moon mother (Origami Poems Project, March 2020), and & so i believe (Origami Poems Project, April 2021). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018). She also has three full-length poetry collections, the latest being You Will Not Control Me (Cyberwit, March 2021).
i'm sick of always
having to be strong
i want to be able
to be vulnerable, to be
soft, to be every
part of me;
you don't even like my
strength when i am a warrior
you only like that i am resilient
and that i keep coming back—
i am sick of taking hits
of being praised for how many
times i can rise from the ashes
of chaos,
i am sick of being expected
to solve all my problems because
i am strong and smart and capable;
because if you knew how hard it was
for me to reach out maybe you wouldn't be
so quick to dismiss me.
there's nothing wrong with feeling
i remember once
when i was crying,
and someone accused
me of faking it;
reminds me of the person
who said depression wasn't real
and meant it—
if depression weren't real
there wouldn't be so many people
who were and are suffering,
if depression weren't real
then my uncle wouldn't have taken
his own life and he would still be here;
there wouldn't be this guilt in me
for realizing when he died that i didn't
want death just the end of all this
pain and rage and sadness—
my depression makes me feel everything
so deeply,
and after years of apologizing for it;
no longer will i—
there's nothing wrong with feeling or being sensitive,
but there should be something concerning about
lack of compassion or empathy.
the last letter
i still have the last letter
from my uncle
before he took his own life,
and he encouraged me
to follow my dreams;
so here i am
working this job that i hate
striving hard to make my
dreams a reality—
i refuse to give up on my dreams
or on myself because i know
that i am worth it,
and i won't give up on me because
i have seen how miserable people are
especially those who have forgotten
their dreams and don't even know
who they are or what they like—
i refuse to let society make me numb
to my ambitions or swallow my aspirations
i refuse to be just be another cog in a machine
that doesn't work for anyone but the rich,
i refuse to be anyone less than me.
when i am drowning
imagine, for a moment,
that you are suffering;
and you need a life boat
but people insist you
are a strong swimmer and only
throw you life preserver rings
when your legs are tired
from all the swimming you have
done prior to them arriving—
that is what depression is
because even when you give
them subtle hints that you are
suffering,
the help they provide is rarely
adequate;
i hate being told to just smile
and i'll be happier
because smiling is proof of nothing
i can smile even when i am completely
broken and numb inside and you
wouldn't know unless you looked into my eyes—
i don't think people are good at reading
emotions because they always miss
when i am drowning.
i'm not wrong
there's no right way to
be human,
and yet society still expects me
to want to fit into their narrow
point of view
of what a woman should be;
i am me
and it's a freeing feeling
not to have to worry
about the status quo—
they don't see women as people
just property and broodmares,
but we have ambitions and we
have dreams and we have magic
and power they could never
dream of which is why they try to
silence us at every turn—
but i am not the woman that will be
quiet because i am tired of being made
out to be in the wrong just because
i want more than this world we've been given.
it's really you that's ugly
i saw them bully a kid
until he took his own
life,
and people wonder why
depression runs so rampant?
any one who is seen as different
becomes othered,
i have been a misfit my entire life;
used to wound me but i have
learned to love myself and my own
company because people can be
vexing with all their demands—
what i really wanted as a kid was
love and acceptance,
the sad thing is i had to turn to myself to find it;
i know now that i am worth it and so
are my dreams
but little me believed that i was
a burden and incapable of being loved and
unworthy of having friends—
to everyone who bullied me and those
who continue to do so i hope you know
it's really you who is ugly,
so maybe work on your own insecurities
and heal your own broken heart.
Bio: Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has seven published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019), and the samurai (Yellow Arrowing Publishing, October 2020), and three micro-chapbooks Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018), moon mother (Origami Poems Project, March 2020), and & so i believe (Origami Poems Project, April 2021). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018). She also has three full-length poetry collections, the latest being You Will Not Control Me (Cyberwit, March 2021).
hope he found joy
thought one day
maybe my uncle
could teach me how,
to paint,
always admired his art;
didn't know how
tortured his soul was-
he was thirty six
when he passed,
he had his whole life
ahead of him;
yet his mind had become
a prison that wouldn't give
him peace -
so i hope now that he gets
to paint sunsets,
and sculpt stars and flowers;
i hope that he is able to
know joy as he couldn't know
on earth.
my beaches aren't for everyone
i was made to feel like
that nothing i ever did
would be good enough,
and i struggled on my own
to navigate my oceans of emotions;
there was so many tears and so
much anger and so much pain and the
constant question that gnawed at me:
why wasn't i worthy of love?
all i ever wanted was
to be loved,
all i ever wanted was
to be appreciated;
all i wanted was to be seen
for who i was-
& yet everyone wanted me to be
someone i wasn't so they could be comfortable,
but now that i have found my magic
and my power and understand the language
of my heart and soul and know the mythology of
my bones
i have left behind my shallows;
and if they cannot swim in my oceans
then let them sit on the sand and remain there
my beaches aren't for everyone.
beauty in my feathers
i have never belonged,
and there was once a time
i tried;
but i have always been
a wild bird
that never accepted the confines
of the cage nor the necessary
songs-
my music wasn't like those
of the songbirds,
and my colors weren't the same
as the canaries and parrots;
i was a raven in a sea
of birds that were taught
never to trust me
just because i was different-
i used to cry thinking i wasn't worthy
of love
but now i realize my weird
has and always will be beautiful
even if i am not always appreciated
there is beauty in my feathers.
Bio: Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has seven published chapbooks A MermaidCrashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019), and the samurai (Yellow Arrowing Publishing, October 2020), and three micro-chapbooks Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018), moon mother (Origami Poems Project, March 2020), and & so i believe (Origami Poems Project, April 2021). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018). She also has three full-length poetry collections, the latest being You Will Not Control Me (Cyberwit, March 2021).
