originalzombee

I AM NOT A WRITER
but i like to pretend sometimes.




there are these old yellowed photographs
i don't have them but i remember so well
the way my mother smiled and laughed
and pretended to hate the attention of a lens.
i remember the way she thought it would all be so perfect
marriage and children
a perfect husband and perfect home.
i can barely remember her scent anymore.
in fact, i don't recall my dads.
perhaps i should call him
like i should find her
and realize even more how little my family
knows the meaning of function, love, and harmony.

i grew up with no back bone
for i knew not a man who was a man
nor a woman who was strong.
so i keep silent when words RAGE through my mind
and every thought screams "i have a voice too!"
and instead i duck my head and nod and shuffle my feet and cry
and
do

not

sleep.

i fear not being alone
as solitude is the only one left to abandon me
but i fear love and i fear failure
and both hang over me with constant sorrow
looming
hovering
stagnant
and never stable.
i'm waiting for the fucking world to explode
because its the only thought that gives me hope anymore.

i watch him shake in his sleep
and thrash
and kick
and push
and when i stroke his forehead
he crinkles his nose and turns on his side.
there is nothing i can do
my love will never save anyone.

and all my friends have the fucking answers
and not a single one really knows loss
they seem to think my heart is a stereo
i just have to tweek the right knobs for the right sound
and everything is then okay.

fuck those photographs.
and fuck this fuzzy skipping heartsong.
fuck my lacking unconditional love
and my mute, sobbing, selfish heart.
fuck this lack of telephone to call home
and my missing motivation
fuck all the dreams that will only taunt me
and every skeleton shaking in my closet.
fuck all these wasted tears
and all the advice i get.
fuck every fool who thinks they can pull one over on the world.
fuck my nightmares
and paintings
and fuck opening my mouth
and fuck feeling stupid everytime i try.