Moving In

It feels like there’s no space for me
Because all the women before
Have left traces of their footprints in the dust that covers your floor.

Echoes of their laughter still ring loudly in your ears.
You remember what they told you when I’m telling you *my* fears.

I can’t compete with history,
traces of their souls will always be there
And similarities between us are anything but rare.

Am I the next iteration of the amazing women who came before?
I can’t help but study them and
Their footprints on your floor.

I don’t want to crowd them out,
But I am my own person
And I take up space.
Is there any room left for me in this god forsaken place?

Will I always be aware that she was wittier than me?
Or kinder, so much kinder, so wild and carefree?
I feel stifled with my baggage, piled high outside your door.
And I don’t want to ruin their footprints, dragging my baggage across your floor.

Because these women loved you first
And honestly they love you still.
Can I ever love you that much?
I can’t say that I will.

So here I stand, aware of their impact
On your life, your thoughts, your mind
And I hope the woman after me will think of me in kind.

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