Note to Self/Etcetera, Whatever.

Note to Self

Look at what you’ve done;
Just watch our hands shake—
I think you revel in the way
This weakness shames me.
Our clumsy feet trip because
You shuffle like a corpse;
Dead weight, nothing more.
You hold hostage
My thoughts from our tongue;
You just love to taunt me,
Don’t you?
Everything I try to do,
You drag me down;
Why won’t you cooperate?
You parasite—
You crippled foreigner—
I can hear you laughing.
I hate the way
You tell me “sit” and “stay”,
Knowing I have no choice
But to consent,
And be disgusted
By my own submission.
I wish I could punish you—
Oh, to exact revenge—
But, as everything I do
To you I also do to me,
I’m expected to treat you well;
Because apparently I am God’s,
And not my own.
I guess He likes to collect
Broken things.


Sometimes I wonder why no one really seems to get that this is still hard to deal with; that it is constantly simmering and occasionally has to boil over.
Then I realize that they don’t understand because I never tell them. Because when I boil over, I do it alone. When the excess is all burned away, I clean up and go back out into the world, leaving behind no evidence but some vague stains of cynicism.

So here’s some evidence. Here in the city there’s not enough space around me to hold everything that spills, but the internet is awfully big so I guess it’s as good as anything to catch the overflow. I guess that's kind of what a blog's for, anyway.

Now I’m going to go put my big-girl panties on and deal with it, cause we’ve all got problems and I do have many blessings etcetera, whatever. Toodles.