Undeserving
[did you give up?
did it get easier?
did all those things you wanted
come together in the end?
was i the one?
was i even here?
did you ever really notice how i
never really cared?]
I remember watching him perform once. It was truly exhilarating standing backstage, watching all the action behind the scenes, and then to see him come into his element and amaze the crowd—and me—without really trying.
His fans were wild and completely into the songs—they knew the lyrics backwards and forwards. Hands were thrown up in the air, bodies were jumping and dancing; it was just incredible to see so many people come together for one great love: him.
But that’s only one memory, one good one, out of so many other forgettable ones.
Because he was a performer, a musician, an artist, a business man, first and foremost.
He was mine only when it suited him.
In the moments where I had him, I did my best to cherish him and show him how much I loved him. However, he wasn’t looking for love. He wasn’t really looking for me, either.
[she smiled and looked at me and said
you don't know what it's like
i feel like nothing at all
you don't know what it's like]
It took me a while to realize that, and even longer to accept it. I understand him better now—why he can’t commit himself to me, why he won’t. There’s a mental roadblock within him that keeps him from entangling himself into anything too serious.
Our relationship was serious for me, but after it was over, I knew it had never been more than fun for him.
Sometimes, I’d tell him how frustrating it was to never be able to find him or be with him because of his pressing schedule, but he always said that I didn’t know what it was like.
The truth is, Marshall Mathers doesn’t know what it’s like to not be famous anymore.
[did you forget?
did you believe in it?
did all those things i promised
come up empty in the end?
any regrets?
any dreams you miss?
comfort comes with patience
serenity]
I loved him, really, I did, but he didn’t believe me. He refused to—maybe more for his own piece of mind than lack of trust in my confession. Whatever the reason, he never attempted to reciprocate the feelings.
He doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone so much, to want them with such passion and intensity, and have an insane desire to make them happy. He doesn’t know because he chooses not to.
[she smiled and looked at me and said
you don't know what it's like
i feel like nothing at all
you don't know what it's like]
And since he chose not to know love, to find love, or to even believe in it, I left him.
I left with more than a suitcase, though.
I left with a part of him inside me.
[i feel insignificant
i feel nothing at all]
He’ll never have to know just how much we had.
He doesn’t deserve that anymore than I deserve being his girl of the month.
[did you give up?
did it get easier?
every little word lingered
slipped and fell]
But really, I’m doing this for myself.
I can’t handle his accusations of betrayal, thieving, and manipulation. I can’t handle him asking for a paternity test. My heart can’t take monthly checks for child support or detached visits. But worst, I can’t take knowing that that’s all we’d have.
The End.
Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.