Sandra Dodd

Rookie (April 17,1967 / Los Angeles, CA)

Existential Suicide And Resurrection, For Goodness Sake - Poem by Sandra Dodd

It seems the woman
that walked into last year
will not be the one that
walks out of this one.
I sense a death in me,
an existential suicide
that has to be.
The me I was
cannot exist.

She is too hung up
on everyone else’s happiness.
Deriving a sense of success or failure
from smiles or frowns of others.
I withered under goodness.
For goodness sake
was killing me
one good act at a time
in the service of others.
They did not ask me
to slay myself for their sake.
Quite the opposite
smile on my face
masked my suicide
as a life extraordinaire.

For years I prided myself
on doing good.
I justified the killing of me
“for goodness sake”
saying it was for those I love.
I have given and squeezed
everything that was me
down to be what I thought
everyone else needed.
I think the woman
that walked into this year
has died.
In her place personhood
was born
in a similar body
as to hide the death
from those around her.

Resurrected in her place
is a new and happier me.
Goodness now exist
in feeling alive.
loving how I spend my days.
So selfish, but so right.
I feel again
not what they wish
me to feel
But who I am

Confused are they
whom thought they knew me
but find the similar body a stranger.
My thoughts are of me, mostly.
Days has become my days,
nights my nights.
I find that I cannot squeeze
into others likeness of me.
I had shrunk it so small
it could not be detected.

As if I suddenly awoke
on the ground,
rose up
began walking again.
I am doing, saying things
that the good me would never.
So why do they feel so good?
I am feeling, playing with ideas
that are impermissible
to the good me.
Why do they make me feel
more alive than ever?

I feel awakened.
As if I slumbered
through goodness.
Now walking in
loving selfishness.
Into this year,
the next,
and the next,
and the next
The me that walked into last year
is dead.
Who will walk out of this one
is not yet born.
I like her already.
Like expectant mother
loves a child yet arrived
I await my own birth

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, January 31, 2010

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