you know what pisses me off? friends who don't act like friends. friends who tell you they always make time for their friends and don't. friends who ignore you. friends who are happy to see you until they realize you don't fit into their life. friends who don't reply to your email, not even one word. friends who comment on everyone else's wall except yours. friends who encourage you to open your heart and subsequently crush said heart.
you know what also pisses me off? how angry i am with my friend and how important this friendship is for me...why are my eyes welling with tears now? how did i get here? once hopeful and energized by friend and now frustrated and regretful. rejected again. rejected by an old friend, one whom i never thought i would talk to again. one who reminded me of happy me, pre-depressed me, innocent me. one with whom i share common interests. or so i thought.
damned if i do...be myself, tell my truth, feel appreciated.
fuck this world and the horse it rode in on.
too tired to climb the emotional ladder
tired of looking through rose colored fun house mirrors
distortion persuading my heart to peek
look, just a little, maybe this time will be ok
persuading my soul to unlock prayers
and go to bed before I wake
again i fail, fall, frustrate my forward progression
what happened?
no answer
was it something I said?
no answer
one too many emails?
no answer
intrusion of public privacy?
no answer
expectation higher than yours?
no answer
will you please contact me and explain?
nothing
i hear you loud and clear.
i hear gentle crackings, like the iced lake removing itself from the warming shore
that's my confidence
that's why I'm pissed
at myself
Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts
10/31/11
11/17/10
in a rut
I'm pissed off and out of steam. don't want to talk about how we talk. stop trying to explain yourself calmly now when you already told me what you really think of me saturday night. great date, by the way. I enjoyed every minute together laughing with our friends and your friends and their friends...until you told me why you weren't. why the fuck do you let me go on for hours if you think I'm embarrassing you? why don't you sulk or something so I get the hint and shut up? I wasn't even drinking, you were the one who encouraged she add rum to my diet coke. what did you expect, hotter sex? ding, ding, ding, what did he win instead? a mean bitch who jokes and barbs at his expense. whata' catch!
did you bring your compound bow, cuz you may need to go postal on her ass when her mouth starts opening.
twenty years ago I was oblivious. twenty years later I'm surprised. did we just wake up from a twenty year dream? are we still fresh college grads, groping each other in front of joe public and not giving a shit who knows we are, oops, pregnant? Or was I too blind to pick up on the doubts you garnered after your parents warned you about my ulterior motives? oh yeah, I had motives...I motivated myself to be strong and brave while our first child grew inside of me. I motivated my way to my parents' homes to tell them I fucked up and was moving on. I motivated my tears to hide and my dreams to be put on hold. Motivated to find my way in dimly lit reality. After all, we had each other and we were in love. cliches can be useful when telling oneself everything will be OK.
So impressions are important now. Like every Christmas we stuffed into your childhood home, chasing toddlers away from accidents waiting to happen, sleeping on a soggy mattress in an unheated room, fielding canned beer from the basement for the men, posing for photos with crabby babies and crabbier adults, pretending to like the gifts we opened and pretending to know who we received from, attempting conversation without giving away family secrets, fielding career questions and parenting tips from those who wanted us to know better. Impressed? not likely. Confused? me too. Why do you hold me accountable for who I am when you know exactly what I'm made of?
another cliche: buyer beware. I know who you are and I adjust. I live with the good and move around the unpleasant. I expect no perfection, no platitudes. I'm over that, under that, been there, done that. Why do you seem to suffer so at the foundation of our differences, now, twenty years past the I do's and I don't know how? I sit in our kitchen at 2:46 am, typing while you sleep because I'm gonna burst if I don't get this out. Purging. Releasing. Silently shouting at myself as my head hangs in shame. My insecurities have flared and the fire grows with each fuck up. How many is that now? since 1989...burn, baby, burn.
did you bring your compound bow, cuz you may need to go postal on her ass when her mouth starts opening.
twenty years ago I was oblivious. twenty years later I'm surprised. did we just wake up from a twenty year dream? are we still fresh college grads, groping each other in front of joe public and not giving a shit who knows we are, oops, pregnant? Or was I too blind to pick up on the doubts you garnered after your parents warned you about my ulterior motives? oh yeah, I had motives...I motivated myself to be strong and brave while our first child grew inside of me. I motivated my way to my parents' homes to tell them I fucked up and was moving on. I motivated my tears to hide and my dreams to be put on hold. Motivated to find my way in dimly lit reality. After all, we had each other and we were in love. cliches can be useful when telling oneself everything will be OK.
So impressions are important now. Like every Christmas we stuffed into your childhood home, chasing toddlers away from accidents waiting to happen, sleeping on a soggy mattress in an unheated room, fielding canned beer from the basement for the men, posing for photos with crabby babies and crabbier adults, pretending to like the gifts we opened and pretending to know who we received from, attempting conversation without giving away family secrets, fielding career questions and parenting tips from those who wanted us to know better. Impressed? not likely. Confused? me too. Why do you hold me accountable for who I am when you know exactly what I'm made of?
another cliche: buyer beware. I know who you are and I adjust. I live with the good and move around the unpleasant. I expect no perfection, no platitudes. I'm over that, under that, been there, done that. Why do you seem to suffer so at the foundation of our differences, now, twenty years past the I do's and I don't know how? I sit in our kitchen at 2:46 am, typing while you sleep because I'm gonna burst if I don't get this out. Purging. Releasing. Silently shouting at myself as my head hangs in shame. My insecurities have flared and the fire grows with each fuck up. How many is that now? since 1989...burn, baby, burn.
8/23/10
a sorry apology
a crowd of people stood and stared...the Beatles are my inspiration this week, this morning, this life.
I love to turn you on.....................
I do
when I feel it
when you feel it
when we are we
so the apology is expected
which one should I use this time? the "I'm sorry" with meaning, or the "I won't do it again" with prayers that I won't, or the "I realize what I did was not the best choice, I'm sorry that I hurt you or made you feel__________, I will think about coming at this issue from a different way next time"...blah, blah, and I'm sick of this shit, blah!
words already spoken aren't accepted; been heard and precedent set.
new words aren't trusted or heard or believed or allowed to leave my mouth in one paragraph.
I think a few of those words are wandering around in my bedroom closet, lost and looking for their landing strip. My clothing, absorbed with spouts and shouts and tears and fears, clinging to the rod for dear life from season to season, without concrete evidence that they will hang in the same wardrobe in the morning. Just ask the broken wine glasses or the dusty turntable or the scratched box of old lady's spoons...memories of nothing but trouble. Purging the past from my memory via material fascination with image. The multiple boxes of amassed utility bills and old loan statements will see their demise later today. Shredding paper can be cathartic.
Do you know it's gonna' be alright? The Beatles told me so. And so do you. I've come here, to my semi-private sounding board, before going there, where the problem lingers and hovers and waves its arms at me in reminder to look up, face it, greet it, deal. Let me introduce you to the great procrastinator at her best. The scared puppy with tail between legs and ears pinned back crouching under the coffee table until the big bad wolf exits. the long and winding road...will never disappear...I've seen that road before...it always leads me here. Yup! why do you think I'm hiding? I know this ending. the story has written itself for years over years. the characters remain the same. the places may have changed, the circumstances tweaked, the provocation adjusted by change...and the hurt still hurts. bilaterally.
I love to turn you on.....................
I do
when I feel it
when you feel it
when we are we
so the apology is expected
which one should I use this time? the "I'm sorry" with meaning, or the "I won't do it again" with prayers that I won't, or the "I realize what I did was not the best choice, I'm sorry that I hurt you or made you feel__________, I will think about coming at this issue from a different way next time"...blah, blah, and I'm sick of this shit, blah!
words already spoken aren't accepted; been heard and precedent set.
new words aren't trusted or heard or believed or allowed to leave my mouth in one paragraph.
I think a few of those words are wandering around in my bedroom closet, lost and looking for their landing strip. My clothing, absorbed with spouts and shouts and tears and fears, clinging to the rod for dear life from season to season, without concrete evidence that they will hang in the same wardrobe in the morning. Just ask the broken wine glasses or the dusty turntable or the scratched box of old lady's spoons...memories of nothing but trouble. Purging the past from my memory via material fascination with image. The multiple boxes of amassed utility bills and old loan statements will see their demise later today. Shredding paper can be cathartic.
Do you know it's gonna' be alright? The Beatles told me so. And so do you. I've come here, to my semi-private sounding board, before going there, where the problem lingers and hovers and waves its arms at me in reminder to look up, face it, greet it, deal. Let me introduce you to the great procrastinator at her best. The scared puppy with tail between legs and ears pinned back crouching under the coffee table until the big bad wolf exits. the long and winding road...will never disappear...I've seen that road before...it always leads me here. Yup! why do you think I'm hiding? I know this ending. the story has written itself for years over years. the characters remain the same. the places may have changed, the circumstances tweaked, the provocation adjusted by change...and the hurt still hurts. bilaterally.
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