I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Mind spouting obscenities
How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?
It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
Get off –
Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”
He’s just too much. It’s like I’m living with a teenager. And it’s really ethereal; he gets on your nerves in this really subtle, papercut way. Tiny actions that add up.
He doesn’t pick up after himself, he leaves the water filter empty, he puts his dirty runners on the couch, he never washes the dishes, he comes home past 2am drunk every night – you can hear him staggering into bed, reeking of cigarettes.
That part? I can tolerate that.
Hard to believe, but it’s true.
I can tolerate all of it.
It’s the subtle shit that makes me want to blow my brains out.
He never asks me how I’m doing, he never asks how my day went. He walks into a room, interrupts a conversation and starts talking about the failed connection he just had with this woman and that.
But get this.
He doesn’t see it as a failure; there’s a kind of delusions of grandeur happening. Time and time again, women have shown in their very mercurial, catlike, non-confrontational ways: they’re not interested.
So, why don’t you get it?
They don’t write back. They don’t call back. They ignore you. Broken promises. They say thanks but no thanks by not saying it.
That part would make me wanna blow my brains out too.
Women suck at communicating with the opposite sex. Period. Continue reading “you’re not alone”
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.
The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
It lives larger in my head.
When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.
Continue reading “take take take”
FADE IN: two surfers.
“I found this note on my phone that I never wrote.”
“What do you mean?”
“A notepad-note-thingie that said, ‘Things are getting interesting.’ Like, what the fuck?”
“I feel like I’m getting my identity stolen.”
“You would know if that was happening. You also get shit-faced a lot, so there’s that.”
“Yeah. There’s this guy in the music business who sent me an email with a legal document attached that said, ‘You better get yourself a good lawyer, see you in court.’ Like, what the fuck did I do? It haunted me. I got off Facebook, Twitter, everything.”
“Don’t let ass-fucks like that get in your way. Fuckin’ idiots, the lot of ’em.”
“I don’t know. There’s like, some darkness inside, you know.”
He rubs his chest.
And then: “Do you believe in Jesus?”
Continue reading “Find Magdalena”
I am crying
over things that shouldn’t cause so many tears.
I am clutching
to things that everyone else can let go of so easily.
I am ripping
away at my own brain
because the darkness only hurts me more.
I am pushing
because my whole life that’s what I’ve been good at.
I am killing
myself over people
who wouldn’t do the same for me.
I am holding
back from the things that should help me succeed.
I am wandering
through broken pieces
that I shouldn’t have to put together in the first place.
I am over
I am so
Done by Iona Scott, Before There Were Bars, POPS The Club