Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Staggering Cruelty.

Yesterday, I was called “so cruel” as to be “staggering to the mind” of the person who chose to voice such a mean-spirited thing to me right now. I was called cruel because I carved out the next few days completely for my mom; so that I will not have to worry about juggling or racing around to fulfill commitments I’ve made to anybody besides my mom. Upon being called cruel in this context yesterday, I realized something quite clearly:

If being with my mother as she lives out the end of her life equates to my own cruelty towards a single person other than her, so fucking be it. I have dread this circumstance for my entire existence, and it has finally come to meet me, to take her away forever. I may be a self-absorbed bitch for ignoring any and all of my other connections to other human beings at present, but that’s the way my crumbly cookie has fallen apart

I am 110% pre-occupied with my mom’s situation, and if that is abnormal – – – shoot me; and then, go fuck yourself real good.

You’re A Worm.

I wonder if you realize how disgusting you are for what you are doing; no need for me to go into detail…you’re fucking gross, dude.

Two things I have learned in recent history that 110% do it in terms of TOTALLY TURNING ME THE FUCK OFF:

  • Being talked to like I am an idiot.
  • Trying to be taken home by a guy (that I used to fuck, a chunk of time ago – like years) who is now sporting a 22 year old girlfriend.

Like I would EVER sleep with you again after knowing this condemning fact about you, dude?… get real. That’s like, my daughter’s age, you sick fuck…you are supposed to be a grown ass man, and I am deeply disappointed to know that you went astray down the road bordering pedophilia, it’s sordid.

I Feel Like.

I feel like “fuck everyone and everything”,

It looks like I’m stuck on dumb and done trying,

It seems like I cut and run from such a futile sting,

It plays out like a fucked up and never-ending thing;

In my mind, there’s not a line between anything,

the construct of time holds no valuable meaning,

the stopped buck weighs as much as fuzz in the breeze,

the confines of hatred wrapped inside my insanity;

I feel like never getting back up into the fight again,

looks like surgeries and screw-in teeth ain’t shit in the end,

it seems right that train tracks mark me in my patchwork skin,

it plays like the blues, telling stories of the Hell that I live in.

 

Gone.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to start listening?

Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
your odd eccentricities?

Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
lay it down on your table,
where the other parts lie?

I suppose you’d prefer,
if I acted just like her:
if I loved co-dependently,
full-time, live-in “fluffer”;

If I leaned on you, heavily,
with intentions only pure?
a dead weight weighing down,
the coat-tails in your future;

Would you choose to diffuse again?
if I checked my levels of estrogen,
had my words been better chosen,
would I have someday been forgiven?

What if, instead of,
this twisted notion of “love”,
I recognized one evening,
the ill fit of your glove;

and the day soon arrives,
with my wide open eyes,
seeing things the way that I,
should’ve seen them, by and by;

all you’ll find is my trust,
blindly choking on my dust,
as you see me get smaller,
in the distance between us.