More bar room rantings

The world was encroaching, faster than you could run. Like a lumbering beast, whose heavy feet snapped life like twigs.

It could have been different, had you done things differently. You could have said no. You could have screamed. You could have used your power, held on to it, refused to let it go. You could have chosen differently. You didn’t. You were too afraid to speak. You didn’t have the strength to fight. You weren’t sure enough to say no. You didn’t trust yourself to run. You weren’t brave enough to cry.

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We were all seeking refuge from the cold, and life as we knew it. The snow outside laid itself to rest, demanding a grave to share. No-one ever says, here’s a space, take it up. Still you burden me with your selfishness. Watching this sad man fills me with anger. You and he are one in the same, your self pity and sadness violating everything around you.

You’re driving me insane. You think I’m a fallen angel. You push and push and push until there’s nowhere left to turn. You’d rather see my fall than stand in the same place. I’m with you on that one.

Because you carry the weight of a thousand broken promises, a thousand tiny deaths. I walk, heart heavy, and always will. I won’t collapse under you. You moved against me and my heart lurched backwards, straining against my ribs. Sometimes I feel like the only way I can touch you is through these bars. Have you ever felt truly touched? Have you ever really touched me? Can’t you fucking see. A thousand tiny deaths.

You’re so fucking certain. You’re so fucking sure you’ve got us all figured out. You think you deserve the Nobel Pussy Prize. Don’t tell me not to feel. Especially when it’s anger. I’m entitled to my anger. It took me years to realize this, and a few more to free it from the shallow grave I’d dug. I’m not going to toss it back simply because it’s hard to hear, simply because it’s not pretty or neat. I’m not pretty or neat. I’m not prim or proper. My thoughts are not linear and I don’t believe in night lights.  So make up your mind. Do you want me or what you think I should be?

~ by throatstuck on May 7, 2009.