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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,
blurring distinction:
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.

Here’s a technique they use: In a perfect world, what would happiness, togetherness, the best date ever, etc. look like? Maybe the question helps some people, but it pisses me off.

1) Before I can even begin to answer the question, I have to imagine a perfect world, which is such a huge issue I am paralyzed. What would a perfect world look like? Fuck if I know and I hate being tied to that question because it makes me think of moldy crackers and teardrops and regular soda that has zero calories and would that really be perfect, is that really a world. World. It pisses me off to think big thoughts, that is why I am so content being wholly self-absorbed.

2) If I had ever experienced the perfect date or happiness, I could certainly answer that question. The point is that I have not experienced such a thing. I can tell you what it doesn’t look like with a Shamdog, an Air Force John, or a guy who plays with his food. But then I think, well, maybe the situation was perfect and I need a different guy. How can you imagine what happiness looks like if you don’t know the color of his eyes and his exact height? If you don’t know if he’s a drug dealer or a Republican?

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
queerflies
the unnatural
the unwanted
the disembowed
the goddamned

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
carelessly
hag as if insulting good friends
girlfriends
isn’t the same thing
as the jocks, the Christians, the Muslims, the Red Texans shouting
fag
fucking fag
goddamned fag
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!

Listen

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

Due warning: this is NOT a creative or funny post. Unless you want to be subjected to paragraphs and paragraphs of endless venting and bitching, go ahead and move on to someone else’s blog and come back here soon. I adore you, dear reader; I just have issues that the medication is not smothering at the moment.

 

So my horoscope says I will be especially aggressive this Thursday and I think, oh poor world, you’re in for it today. Ask anyone. Ask Bryan. I stay aggressive. I stay offended.

 

(Okay, granted, Bryan is not the best person to ask because he truly is constantly offensive to me. He’s so judgmental and abrasive. For example, I invited him to come to my parents’ house this weekend and they are without electricity because of the ice storm and he was saying really appalling things like, “we can go up on Saturday instead of Friday, if that helps. I’ll help your mother in the kitchen.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so berated in my life. Except for that time when Bryan was like, “medicatedlady, I’ll help you move, no problem.” Why can’t he stick to NICE, pleasant things like accusing me of rapid cycling when I am clearly unipolar?)

 

I have been short with my mother the last two nights because 1) she wouldn’t just tell me how the gas heat in her house worked, and 2) my father starts talking in the background and laughing loudly every time my mother is talking to me on the phone and she’s like, “did you hear what your daddy just said?” I tell her, “no, I’m on the phone with you.” What’s really awful about this is my mother is truly, truly the sweetest lady ever (ask anyone, ask Bryan).

 

And then I have *minor* resentment issues with the potential loves of my life because I want fire and sparks and someone who actually calls me once in a blue moon and who I don’t expect to just call me out of the blue one day to tell me he’s back in Japan and oh, he didn’t have a chance to tell me beforehand but I was a good person to “hang out” with. And then I’ll be angry. I’m already angry, a sort of a pre-emptive rage/resentment combo that brings up my rage/resentment concerning other assholes who have sinned against me. What keeps going through my head is I can’t even say we’re friends because I think I was just someone to kill time with. I’m apparently only worthy of being someone to kill time with and I am angry about it.

 

No. I’m bitter about it.

 

So, world, I am rooting for you. I sincerely hope you can withstand my rampage. I’ve had too much caffeine already, world. That’s probably not a good sign either. I am trying to stifle myself with lots of food and ice cream and creating toilet seat flair on facebook, but I don’t think it’s working. But, fear not, world, my next doctor’s appointment is tomorrow.

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.

 

And then.

 

Beneath my eyes but above my cheek

I feel angry tears

almost forming

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

 

Fuck it.

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
Cast out
I’d wish
If I wished at all

SOB with me

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