"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am…" –Maya Angelou
All I feel now is the lie
My heart is filled with falsity
Telling me I’m angry
Never telling why
Somewhere is the truth
Anger is convenient
Despair the main ingredient
Mixed with sadness and youth
But truth carries the pain
And knowing doesn’t save me
When I know I’m going crazy
Because how could this be sane
But if this is my deceit
Then I could use a little crazy
Because the only thing to save me
Is to not admit defeat.
The wallflower shrivels
Into a ball of burning hate
I don’t know why she’s come to this
Perhaps the water came a bit too late
Perhaps the sun came down a tad too bright
Perhaps too long lasted lonely night
Perhaps so long went on the drought
That abundance brought on only doubt
Now the wallflower shrivels,
Assumes that it’s fate;
And if it always was to come to this
Why bother with the wait?
I stopped looking for the light
When I first saw my own reflection,
The monstrous blood that runs in me
Inspiring defection.
I traded in my cloaks, I thought,
For the safety of the dark;
For every deed I wished I’d done
Became a wishful murder mark.
But still every wicked battle
That I tried to keep within myself,
And all the many poisons
I reserved for tainting my own health,
Have spilled into the sunlight now
With a sizzle and a splash,
Gone through every opening
I only thought of as a gash.
If I ever find the wielder
Then there’ll be hell to pay,
For I can feel again the dagger
That with my heart just loves to play.
All I know about him
Is he has those steely eyes;
And there is no doubt about him
When he’s playing with his knives.
He comes to call when I am angry;
When I’m tired, and confused.
He sells his blades for free
And leaves my heart all steel-infused.
I wish I knew just why he did it;
But he’s always leaving knives,
And yet his worst leaving to wit
Is the need to stab him in those steely eyes.
It’s better than it was before:
Laughter drifts through open doors;
So why does my chest tighten,
And my heart so quickly frighten,
At every hint of sounds like slamming doors?
Is it my unpainted fears
On the wall, downstairs?
Or the memory of a child,
Imagination running wild,
Listening to the yelling coming from upstairs?
Is it a weakness that is beautiful?
Or a strength to shield my weary soul?
Or a laughter in my mind,
That says to treat in kind,
And insists that in the end, no one’s really saveable?
Or maybe it’s the path I choose
At the crossroads of lose-lose;
And maybe if I try enough
At the game of never giving up,
I’ll find that there’s a prize that even on that road, I cannot lose.
Heavy footsteps heard; my own grow quiet
There’s no spoken word, but what I say to hide it
We’re all just people, I must believe
But memory dwells on evil, when you rage and seethe
It’ll change when I change it
It won’t change before
I can blame them forever
But it’ll only hurt more
I can watch and can wait
And can slip in that way
Where the harder you grip
You fall further away
I can call out the kettle
Or I can be my own pot
But in the end I must choose,
Whether I want to or not.
What is one to do
When every word is a knife,
Every masquerade of normalcy
A bag over the head?
What is one to do
When what should be a life
Is just a pretence born of uncertainty,
And every day is just another day of the dead?
What is one to do
When just the word of “trying”
Reminds me of every infant rebellion,
Every longing quick put down?
What is one to do
When all unbegins with crying,
And the little steps that would have been
Sink into the sand and drown?
I don’t want to be the angry one;
I don’t want to be another lost soul:
But it’s burned there all along,
Been there like a siren song,
And I don’t know how to vanquish
What I barely can control.
I’ve been really behind on comments and posts the last few days (Week? Two?). I’ll probably remain behind for a little while more. Sorry (again). I mentioned at some point previously that I’d probably be a little distant… Still, you all deserve a lot more attention than you’re getting right now. Well, whether I’m on or not, I haven’t forgotten about you; and hopefully, I’ll be able to find a proper balance of things.
She was preparing dinner in the kitchen, humming some tune he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of when they first met: He’d thought he had stumbled upon a Disney princess. And a princess she still was, in so many ways. Just give it a few moments.
“Hey, hon. I’m back.” He said, setting groceries on the counter.
“Oh, hey. Did you get the milk?”
Silence. He took a breath. He had realized once he was halfway home. Maybe he should have turned back. Well, it was too late now.
“No,” he answered.
She stopped what she was doing. He probably should have waited until she wasn’t chopping vegetables. She tossed the knife back down to the counter with a clatter, and this time it was she who took a breath.
“Really?” She put her hands on her hips, exhaling exasperation up towards the ceiling. “One thing. Just one little thing, Daniel: go to the store, get the things on the list, and come back. Is that so much to ask? Is milk really that hard of a thing to remember?”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just milk. I don’t see why you have to make a big deal out of every little–”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You know what? I was actually having a really good day. But you just don’t care, do you? You can’t put an effort into anything — certainly not for your wife. The sink is still dripping, by the way. You can’t even be bothered to fix that.”
“I’ll get around to it. Why does it have to be fixed right now? You only asked me like a day or two ago!”
“I asked you two weeks ago! And no, you won’t ‘get around to it’, because you never do anything I ask you to!”
“Oh, really? And what exactly did I just do? You think I want to drop everything just to run your stupid errands? Grow up!”
She barked a laugh. “Me? Now that’s rich. You’re telling me to grow up? Look in the mirror, husband. Those ‘stupid errands’ happen to be your home, your well-being, and your dinner. And without milk, tonight I guess I’ll just have to figure out something else to make, instead of your favorite.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, there’s no reason for us to fight about this. I can just go back, pick some up.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and went towards the door. “Bitch,” he muttered, as he unlocked it again.
The plate whizzed by his head, and broke against the wall. Another long night.
