I am sad most days.
Today is one of them.
The realization of betrayal hurts more than any stab wound to the heart.
Will I get over this?
Can I move on?
Is it worth it?
never in a million years would I think that Rhianna would speak to me so profoundly, and encapsulate how I feel:
“Funny you’re the broken one but I’m the only one who needed saving
Cause when you never see the light it’s hard to know which one of us is caving”
on my walk to the train
half of a cat lay in the middle of the street
its brain and guts lay next to the corpse
i thought what a terrible way to go.
I drove to the train station this morning and feel like sloth every time I do it. I hustle my booty to the platform, but as I’m speed walking, I notice a Black woman walking down the middle of the street rolling a piece of luggage or suitcase. She’s yelling at her self or someone she’s left behind. I couldn’t quite make out her words. She approached the train station platform and yelled, “Every day, it’s some kinda of abuse!” repeatedly, like a busted LP. She looked as though she was wearing half of her pajamas and half of whatever she would have worn for the day, had she not been forced to make that decision so early. I wondered if she just got fed up with her spouse and left him. I wondered if she finally took a stand for herself and packed all of her worldly possessions into a red tattered suitcase and made the decided to get the fuck out, right then and there. I wondered how many times this has occurred. She got on the train and yelled at the world through the entire journey to Union Station- as she entered the thoroughfare her words and voice echoed the entire station following every person on their journey. I noticed security guards start to pique their little heads about- with anticipation of using their 5 hour crash course training on this woman. Why couldn’t we just let this woman yell, at the world when she is clearly angry and hurt. Why can’t we just let her do her thing and not assume she’s a ‘crazy lady’? Recently I’ve have been so hurt and angry that all I want to do is yell at the top of my lungs in public, in hope that someone will hear me. I’ve felt so alone recently that when I’m on the train I want to scream and throw things and bash my head into the door. I didn’t do it in fear of being labeled a ‘crazy lady’.
I use the internet to post useless information
about my happenings, my doing, my interests
to give myself
a false sense of self-worth.
Then I’ll post a picture to re-affirm how cool I think
I am in my mind.
So that when I leave this screen for the day,
I can go out there, into the world
and walk with my head held high,
knowing that you, or she or maybe he
will like me, and they’ll want to fulfill their own false sense of
self-worth and reaffirm their own coolness and follow me
around the internet, and they’ll remind me
of how cool I am, and
I’ll feel better about myself
because when I come back at night the screen
will tell me that I’m just that much cooler.
God I love the internet.
I want to treat you well.
I want to shower you with tinkets and shiny things.
I want to hug you and kiss your cheeks, and see you smile
I want to do all these things, but I could never tell you
that I want to do them,
because you’d never let me.
You’d complain of my co-dependant liability,
and I’d say something like,
‘but it’s just for you baby’.
But I want to love you in a way that I know
I could never love myself.
In a way that demonstrates that I could be a better person,
if only I allowed it.
But I want to take you to fancy dinners and call
you my dame.
I want to love you selfishly
in a dangerous way
a way in which I’m too selfish to realize
I want to see a ring on my finger, and know
that finger belongs to you.
I want to love you and pretend I’m the person you want me
to be, the one who has not allowed
her deep seeded traumas to imprint
I want to love you
like the person I know I should be.