The day of my marriage came flooding back. At last I
would have the world placed upon my finger;
at last I would be given more importance;
at last I would find happiness in this
love – true happiness. Not the kind
that covers me with a blanket,
occasionally slipping and
forgetting to cover
my feet as well.
When I first met him, a handsome man he was. His
face had these perfect edges and eyes that seemed to pierce
through you whenever you looked at him. That day we didn’t talk
a lot, but I remember him offering me water – I didn’t want any. I
often doubted how he had fallen in love with someone like me.
Still, he always professed to me his love which now I feel
to be so fake. How can a man not be genuine; my
fault for thinking they all were.
I listened as the vows slowly drowned away into a
faint sound as my thoughts were only on him. We both
said yes – we do. I should have paid closer attention, I
guess. A mistake that was covered up by a kiss.
The fire crackled and heated up the house,
but I couldn’t feel it. Rain drizzled outside as I
heard him come in. The noise of his heavy
boots always startled me – I don’t know if it
Each day me asking him how
his day went and a loud sigh in response
as he slowly walked up the steps – the impact
getting louder and louder just so that I could
hear. I felt guilty and only wished to
hug him – to love him.
My childhood dreams all seem like
complete lies now. I guess this is true for
anything: believing in something with such
an optimism that, when the time comes, will
so easily disappear like one’s breath on a
window on a cold day. My ring suddenly
felt so tight, and I took it off, placing
it on the table.
The lights in the bathroom were
on with the sound of water dripping from
the faucet pulling me in. I turn the nozzle, undress,
and allow myself to be surrounded by the water which
I surprisingly now desire. Feeling myself slipping under I do
not resist, and I repeat the wedding vows once more, carefully paying
attention to each detail. Its painful to hear what should have been and what is.
At least now I can say, I don’t.
This poem was quite different for me as instead of a bunch of fragments it composed itself into a story. Usually I write from my own male perspective, but this time I wanted to change my approach. It seemed more natural to write from a female’s viewpoint allowing me to feel a stronger connection to it . Marriage is an idea that I have been thinking about quite frequently. To me, marriage itself has two end results: it can either help a relationship grow or can take away from the youthful love that was originally blooming. However, in this poem love didn’t even exist.
It is a poem about a woman who held such high hopes of marriage until its reality came upon her. She had a type of innocence that blinded her from being aware of what men can turn out to be. The repetition of the wedding vows showcases the uncertainty in her relationship with her husband. My choice to leave out names was primarily because I wanted to emphasize the disconnect between the two, but, also, I was attempting to make this poem more universally applicable. Commitment is one thing that many run away from as they are unwilling to put effort into maintaining something beyond themselves. Even the circular shape of the ring is used to demonstrate this commitment; however, the woman must eventually push these obligations away as both partners are needed to uphold a relationship. I used water to symbolize the reality that this woman had initially chosen not to accept. What’s ironic is that her fiance – when they weren’t married yet – had offered her a taste of this reality which she refused as she was in her own delusional state. The innocence that she held was so pure as she thought that marriage would take away all the problems that persisted in her life. She was wrong. Ultimately, she is slipping into reality and finds herself looking at her wedding vows with more “detail” as opposed to when she had first chosen to be blind about it.
Whenever I write poems or stories in a negative light that have tragic endings, it seems much more genuine to me than looking at it with optimism. This scares me. I would like to appreciate the beauty of optimism without having this idea in my head that it is fake because it really isn’t. However, I also do believe that in order for me to write optimistically I need to occasionally slip into the world of pessimism. This poem did the same for me.