how can i hate who i am so much and also not do anything to change. how can i continue to react and act in a way i'm ashamed of, in a way that humiliates me, i just don't fucking get it. there's a niggling of disease and depression there but these cannot be overcome just discarded and in actuality i'm spoiled and lazy. i sit smoking dope and eating only because it's easier and i want to make the people who never loved me wrong wrong wrong. see it doesn't matter if i exercise and eat right, you were wrong and your opinions are invalid. this fat and lack of activity have nothing to do with doing nothing. it's because you don't really love me, it's because you want from me what you can't give and i will withhold even my own breath to punish you for not making me a better person.
she died just off pleasant drive near napanee
been swapping off for almost a week
but that morning it was just me.
she'd stripped off her diaper and clothes
stopped rubbing her breasts in discomfort
her last words unintelligible days before.
they came in after sunrise to clean her
i asked them to cover her, open-backed hospital gown
from the look on her face, thought i'd fucked up somehow
paused too long, i tried to explain - they're coming today.
he had been so ashamed of her nakedness
the comfort sought from her nipples and breasts
she thought i was protecting my dignity, not his.
kept quiet and took the moment to smoke
got back as they finished, nearly choked seeing
the victorian high-necked laced-trimmed nightdress
instead of the breezy near-naked calming green shift.
wheezing worse after being turned, they said fluid filling her chest
called during their breakfast said now. get here now. and they left
put down the handset.
she jogged thru the door said now. come with me now. and i left
think there were three of them standing there.
apologized for the horrible gown, told her they were on their way now
just ten more minutes, please.
then no more wheezing, a few caught breaths in her chest
my face to her ear, made sure the last words she heard were
you are loved
you're not alone
even if they weren't all true.
she would say
what does he look like
laugh knowingly
do you know what they say about you
she would say
how they thought i was thoughtless
how they said i was strange
how it wasn't possibly
didn't i see them come to her?
couldn't i tell?
so smart
you are
but you
don't see
how they
want me
she would say
can't see you with anyone.
maybe it's the winter. maybe it's the context. maybe i've just deteriorated to my lowest common denominator.
i see your disregard everywhere, i see the little things; the ones that indicate your ignorance of my indignation. i see where i don't matter i see why i'm ignored i get the insignificance. every day.
i wake up angry i wake up crying i wake up resenting another day where i need to rationalize the treatment i keep telling myself is imagined. every day i deny the evidence and look for the alternatives. they're hard to find - a moment where i'm enjoyable a moment of matching cutlery a moment to hear my name without a favour following. these are smaller than the little things.
i wake with frustration humming in my throat and actions happening before i can stop them. i wake with my mother's insecurities and my father's inabilities and a string of occurances and observances that only illustrates my obtuseness.
you tell me i mean something other than what i'm saying. you tell me my motivations are your own. you tell me to lighten up already then burden me with your assumptions. you refuse to accept that i'm missing a dimension because you can't conceive of life without it. you never take my word for it.
i wake up to this constant commentary this anti-mantra this abracadabra.
man when it flares it rages. geyser like and if left to my own devices the release would be similar - but that's not acceptable and i haven't found an appropriate outlet yet. staying on top of the thoughts and the impulses is key. staying aware of the context and the old shit; not quashing it but calming, holding down the gorge till there's a garbage, keeping up appearances has its benefits.
it goes though, it passes. temporary like nausea, only have to hold my breath for so long then it's done. just keep in mind it's a symptom. the other shit you can handle.
unspoken wish to just belong for one day. it's the patterns in the grasses and the lines on the road that open the way. not the painted ones. the ones of less resistance; the ones that weave between and around and down - the ones that catch the rise and run of it, the quick slip. those ones. and how the music fits, regardless. how it becomes a passenger then the vehicle then an extension and it pushes back. responsive and solid. the ghost of hope clanging her chains further in the distance maybe, the music drowning her out more often and deeply.
i'll keep to myself how gut-dropping disgusting i find them.
that focus and need, that selfishness.
their belief in its inherentness, their right to it.
their abandon of reason, their weakness.
i clench my teeth and feel their necks in my wring, my muscles contract with it.
one more thing they need from me
one more thing they don't think twice about
one more thing they never learn to reciprocate.
and i hate.
been a strange few months starting february i think, but really november. november's when i made decisions, gave up the ghost, lost my audience and i feel like i've been hiding forever. grew into my mask and shed it, fed up with the carapace, let's get on with the rest, yes? that was november.
then february and it all comes slinging back like it only just noticed when i let go and seriously this is what it takes would've only taken years ago? but that's how it always goes, no? except for the control, the capable and confident, except for the inner calm, except for november.
long drives in spring getting lost in my sounds, my senses my perceptions, learning what death is - while changing the people around me, consciously like they were directed i swear. ushering out june now and the next's not an end but a bend in direction a different projection, spiralling out from november.
it's not as if i despise although impatience sets in quick
like adolescence it's everything until it isn't
if you need to go back, you've never left
it's been a series of innocuous occurrences, unfortunately, which ultimately results in my autonomy.
and even though there's no one there, a thousand times
a day i turn to share. unimportant observances too ephemeral for
later. you should have been here; if only for the context.
