Good Riddance and the Poltergeist

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I did that. I am Alice and Wonderland and the Queen of Hearts and the Cheshire Cat and sometimes the Mad Hatter.

Today I am just mad.

Good riddance.

I think that is about the shittiest thing you can say to/about a person.

Breaks my fucking heart, and yet here I am thinking it so hard it is bleeding out onto paper.

In all fairness, he caused the gaping chest wound that is providing the fresh flow of blood for ink.

Writing effigies, trying to close doors and change the locks, yesterday he went and stuck his foot in it.

The fuck?

Please, let me go.

Don’t post my picture on your Instagram. It’s tacky. Stop salting the wound, it stings enough.

Just cauterize the thing already and be done with it. Use the matches you normally burn bridges with honey.

He said he wrote volumes for me but I never got to read a word of it. I am wondering if there is any truth to it. My truth is tattooed on my skin for the world to see. I showed my love.

I showed him everything and then…

He said he didn’t want me. That myself and my friends are narcissists, arguing and dragging through the mud anyone who doesn’t agree with us.

No mud honey.

They were defending me and I defended him.

I knew what he meant because he called me and explained himself.

I didn’t get such a luxury. Just an unanswered text, one in a sea of hundreds that I am drowning in.

As always she is a prisoner of her ghosts.

I am in prison, locked in here, they come and go as they please and leave me stuck.

Why the fuck am I always the one leaving the door open?

I was the last to message the Poet, 88, Young Un … god the list goes on and on and basically reads ‘all of them’.

I know what it is like to be abandoned and I cannae visit that wretchedness on another human being, especially not those I let into my bed and my heart.

I always double check. I always forgive. I always listen to the explanations when they wander back. And they do wander back. I make excuses for them, like maybe time passes differently where they are. But what about me and my time?

“Oh where have you been my blue-eyed son, oh where have you been my darling young one?
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans, been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard.”
~Bob Dylan, A Hard Rains Gonna Fall

That is where I live. The mouth of a fucking graveyard. My love life seems to have been built upon an ancient burial ground and the land is cursed.

And that is what I need, a hard fucking rain. Wash all this shit away.

I can’t anymore.

Whether it is the message they mean to convey or not, all it spells out on my tombstone is ‘she didn’t matter enough to stay/try/fight/love/nothing.’

{See also good riddance.}

I am the common denominator. I see this.

I am so tired of feeling disposable. I am anything but.

Things have got to change, and by things I mean me, and how I do things.

I am not a priest in a box. I don’t have to absolve anyone anymore.

If someone says you hurt them you do not get to decide that you didn’t.
~Louis CK.

I take responsibility for my actions, especially if they are shitty. I own it. I make amends. I say “I am sorry I made you feel that way”, and vow to never do it or anything like it again. I carry every hurt given and every sin committed as a reminder of what not to do again or unto others.

Where are my amends? My forgiveness. My unconditional love.

When is it my turn?

How about now.

Squint your eyes and look closer
I’m not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I’m beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you’re going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said
~
Both my parents taught me about good will
and I have done well by their names
just the kindness I’ve lavished on strangers
is more than I can explain
still there’s many who’ve turned out their porch lights
just so I would think they were not home
and hid in the dark of their windows
til I’d passed and left them alone
~Ani DiFranco, 32 flavors

{See also ‘fuck you and your untouchable face’.}

I am making a new covenant with the universe.

If I catch the slightest whiff of fuckboi coming off them I am slamming the fucking door and smudging the house.

I hereby renounce my ‘keep striking and I’ll forgive you’ policy to 2 strikes and you are out.
One if you are new or I am annoyed.

I am fucking done.

I am burying my own dead here to appease the restless spirits and re-fertilize the sacred ground.

I want my swagger, juju and magic back and the one that is my equal.

Everything else is in my rearview.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I am bulletproof, but why the fuck are you shooting at me? Friendly-fire is the worst of the oxymorons.
Please stop shooting at me, my shield is broken and I’m tired.

I don’t need an exorcism, I just need to do what that family in Poltergeist ought to have done.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE HOUSE.

I am on my way back from the dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*If there is one among you whom I have NOT provided closure for, or a reasonable explanation for my absence please speak now or forever hold your peace. Lift your curse or I will do it for you. Nothing weighs as much as this shit I’ve been carrying around and 99% of this baggage doesn’t belong to me.