March 2015 How I feel about my marriage

A monologue in blue

I think of you as a large pit
Into which I fell unwittingly
“Wow, what am I doing here?”
I was always so careful as a girl
My mother was proud of me
And now, I am crying for help
But the pit is too deep
And no helping hand can stretch this far
So I have to crawl on all fours in dirt
And, I build the steps from mud, I wait for them to dry
While scraping dirt from under my nails
And, months, or maybe years, later
I will emerge, and I will see the sun again
Am I not wise, graceful, and careful?