how to properly loath someone

I hate you because I can, I’m old enough to know I can, you are older, not wiser, uglier, yes, and a bore at length.  

Do not presume I will fill in for you on occasion.  

My occasions are full and out shine your dull persona.

I’ve mended all of your mistakes in the past, but now I mount my accomplishments alongside your wrongdoings.  

Your greatest treasures include a musician and a child in need of haircut.

I am bored and you are purposeless.

Get out of my chair, strange odd woman with unkempt hair.

These are all for you, the days you asked me to sacrifice, the days of my life I cannot replace, take them and may the weight of them bury you.

tired of poetry

I slept and I dreamed of being awake.

Then I woke, and dreamed of being alive.

I recalled what being awake used to mean, and I could no longer sleep.

The reverie was brilliant in its past.  

I yawned and settled back into my cocoon.  

When I awake again, my existence will cease.  

All this time, I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.  

ode to antibiotics and fuck you theraflu

Let's all pretend we're sick and it's 1980 again,
imagine going to the doctor after being sick in bed for one full day, just one.
This doctor would say, I'm going to prescribe some antibiotics to stop whatever is attacking you, and you should start to feel better tomorrow...

Yum, down the hatch it goes by a syringe full of pink kill all the shit that is making you sick...
Delicious, and 10 days of nothing else in the world will be able to get to you, not a god damn thing...

something happened over years, the penicillin was not proffered as it was before....
Poor Miss Evers' Boys, how one dose would have undone the terrible pain and suffering....

Day 5, 2019, you have suffered enough perhaps, so here is your antibiotics, but I'd prefer not to give them to you, until two weeks of suffering has surpassed, that's standard protocol....

Not this lovely doc I saw today, day 4.5, with head exploding pain, got the Z-pack baby, on the mend...

apparently this is not an ode, but rambling ons - steroids too, who cares, and theraflu and all the other over the counter shit, doesn't work, I know I've tried them and I hate taking meds.....
Rest and fluids are overrated, drank gallons of juice on day 1 and slept 24 hours of that day too....nothing mended, only festered...

so back to the star of the land.....moldy bread homage....
Penicillin.....praise be the thing that makes you feel better, whether it's a virus or not, fuck you medical professionals that say to wait it out, you try dying and driving the kids to school...fuck you...give me that pink gorgeous slosh that kills it all...

That's all I have to say for now...4 hours after my first dose...4 hours improvement compared to 4.5 days of deterioration....

Merry Christmas to all, and to all get your selves some antibiotics

The circus is in town, or some other title perhaps....

The man wearing nylons is drawing his pictures again.

He claims they are of me, but all I see is his heart pounding.

He’s on his knees and begging reprieve, but all he wants is more of what he claims weighs him down.  

Behind the elephant, next to the clown, in a pink tutu he threatens to burn the big top down.

From flames, to ashes, to thigh highs, don’t believe him when he cries.  

If you blink and he’s still there, maybe there’s a bit more than artificial care.   

Behind her smile

Behind her smile

She greets you as if she loves you.  She doesn’t

She smiles and you want your smile to be as brilliant as hers. It won’t be.

She listens as you go on and on about your infant, as if she cares.  She doesn’t, her children are grown.

Her mind races with all the things she’d rather do, none of them pertain you.

When you go, she will forget you, a moment of bliss will consume her, until another you comes before her, and she will reset the gears and smile and agree, all for what she needs.

Money

ding dong the troll is dead, the wicked troll is dead......

When you troll me online, be prepared for me to visit you in-kind, or malice, or wit…

Would you like to be acquitted, for I, a fairer house than prose, am able to rip the turf from under your misguided foot….

Paint your lines if you will, I am far better than you, charity is what you claim…..dear boy, real life is not a game…

Count your blessings and check your grammar, for the might of a woman scorned may bring down a rhetorical hammer….or laugh

Make a grand gesture if you are able, or is it only false words you speak, put yourself in the role of that you wish to fill….

For your heart is truly unselfish is it not….take a look at the claim you laid in an attempt to bash my name…

Under the watchful sky your smallness does not resound…..

However, I am reverberated sound

Thursday ramblings.....

I am a plagiarist, because I did not create the words I use to sew myself anew.  And what of my feelings, did I borrow that manifest as well?  What little space I occupy, as if I could go unnoticed, in all of time and space.

Each written piece, a message, a new star, shining in darkness, waiting to be noticed.

It’s been a week since the moment, a singular moment, now a memory.  I’ve almost forgotten you.  

What good is an instant that does not last, what good is the future when the past is forgotten.

A headless man with a role to play, and a fan with a train ticket.  What a cumbersome thing, the nothingness.   

Shall I seek a doctor to ease my woe, or bear my burden as always.  

Never more than a plea, never more than pages with words, unsolicited stories that aren’t often heard.  

Fathers, grandfathers, and lovers, what of them, if nothing is gained for the woman.  

My heart is truly bigger on the inside, and my mind is a universe of its own kind.  

I do not kneel or pray.  The air is plentiful and the wind is kind, renown come whispering by.