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Tonight I break my silence. This is my open letter to you.
You will always be remembered as a vapor
the heat-wet rising to fog the mirrors,
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw you, too.
But that’s not true
I saw a mirage and what I wanted to see
Last I looked I saw nothing ajar, nothing amiss.
Sentimentality is lost on the broken-hearted.
You fog me no more.
Being a fag doesn’t seem that hard
what’s discrimination to you
what’s civil rights to you
don’t you care too much about your red vests and purple stripes
the gel in your hair, the lotion on your skin
walking in high heels
like sissy boys
Group think equals group fabulousness?
Fags of the worse sort
striking down as they are stricken down
Try fighting slurs that the gays fling about
hag as if insulting good friends
isn’t the same thing
as the jocks, the Christians, the Muslims, the Red Texans shouting
fucking die fag
Oh, I hope he responds. It’s true. I’m anticipating a fight. I’m anticipating starting and fanning the flames of a fight. It’s entertainment. Plus, he’s just some guy. I have been used in most of my relationships with men (not all), so why shouldn’t I use some guy who wants me to be someone I’m not?
Oh, cynicism. When people call me cynical, I say thank you. It’s quite the compliment.
(Go ahead, say it. I’ll be beaming. You’ll make me a happy girl. Don’t you want me to be a happy girl?)
Now, I do feel as though the above comment is slightly sexual in nature and I don’t know you like that (as my sugar daddy, dear reader) so I really should take it down a notch.
What I’m saying is I find it frustrating when a man is stubborn about not wanting to argue with me. Hmmm. I know I can find a soft spot to poke; I just have to think. Think!
I’m tired of her
I’m tired of hearing her
I’m tired of seeing her
Since she’s on her way to good health
or on her way to not-so-bad health
Her complaining and her refusals
are symptoms of a petulant child
I have no patience for
Since she’s going anyway
I wish her gone already
Life is meandering and stupid
Let’s get to the fucking punchline already
Let’s laugh at everyone else
and pretend none of the pretention applies to us
Let’s point and stare at all the idiots
Let’s be above them
Let’s ruin our days, years, lives
and never know what for
or why or how come
Let’s do this because we have been patiently waiting for the funny part of the joke like cattle going to the slaughter.
*Written by emerging poet extraordinaire, Straight Up Carol
To my dearest.
Fuck you for leaving me. I actually loved you.
I actually loved you and that is why I am hurting so much
even now after all this time.
You seem to be doing fine and I am still openly hurting.
Fuck you for not loving me enough
maybe you didn’t even love me at all. Fuck you.
It’s like learning any other new behavior or cognition. It’s the same as learning relaxation techniques or to challenge cognitive distortions. Anyone will tell you, these things take time, you’ll have setbacks, the thing is to keep at it. Okay, fine. So it’s hard to it when shit goes down because I feel as though I care. I feel frustrated because wires cross or don’t connect at all. I just have to repeat it, a mantra, over and over: fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit.
Beneath my eyes but above my cheek
I feel angry tears
but not even bothering to rise to the surface
because it doesn’t even matter
why I’d be angry or why I’d cry
because I’m not supposed to care
sometimes I manage
and sometimes I don’t
If I wished at all
I would not wish you well
I’d wish for hell
For you to burn
And turn fitful
In your waking and night dreams
I’d wish for your demise
That if you couldn’t be happy with me
You couldn’t be happy at all
I’d wish for your joy to be extinguished
Your life to be hollow and barren
Your days to be filled with endless time and questions
I’d wish you dead
On the inside
On the other side
Where I was forbidden to go
If I wished at all