A Collection of Old Poems Pt. 7

There was a time
where I wasn't exactly the happiest.
Not sure if I opened up
to you about this,
but here it goes:
I'm a lost soul.
People have constantly
torn me one way
or the other,
trying to get me to their side.
I can't even
begin to tell you
what parts of my life
I wasn't aware I could control.
For a year
(and maybe more),
I could only believe
what I was told.
Now that I'm here,
now that they're gone,
I can think,
I can breathe,
I can grow.
I've been both
unlucky
and lucky enough
to have to figure it out
on my own.
I'm afraid I'll make
everything reborn from last time.
I'm not sure if I can tell you this,
but here it goes:
I can't listen
to Pink Floyd anymore.
Dark lipstick is on probation,
and I have to turn away
when people talk about
Stranger Things.
I can't enjoy
A Handmaid's Tale,
or even eat waffles
without thinking about
what happened.
He's always there.
She's always there.
I wish I wasn't.
Have I told anyone?
You're the only person
I want to spill to
However,
that lost soul
can't say a word.
Her will has been torn up,
thrown to the wolves
of the people she once loved.
I shouldn't spill this to you,
but here it goes:
everything in my life fell apart
at one time.
He was jealous-
rightfully so-
and I didn't want to let go.
Where would I be without
my guidance?
I don't know if I can
find the words for this,
but here it goes:
I was a puppet,
a doll on a string.
Sometimes,
I still worry if that's
who I am.
I want to regain
Control.
Isn't that what life is about?
I learned a while ago
that my coping mechanisms
are all about my loss of
Control.
I choose when to say yes
and when to say no.
It's a gamble,
as I've learned,
as to whether or not
my decision will be respected.
Apparently,
after everything I've been through,
I'm willing to roll the dice.
Please,
sit down at the table,
and put all of your money
down on red with me.