The Hours

There’s an article I was recently linked to, It offered advice,

advice on how to deal with lingering grudges we still hold onto,

old cud chewed inside long after the offenders have attacked and left,

we compile and dwell on the litany of knives plunged into our backs,

how much their slights hurt, I’ve often bundled these spears Into fuel for grievance,

after all, we were wronged and there must be justice, the only healing balm

the essay shows how foolish that pursuit can be a dumb wild goose chase

the real key to peace is acknowledging that strife is a constant,

the fire that forms a stronger spirit that knows how to move on,

without cooled closure without just forgiving and forgetting their crimes,

it was so simple even if there’s no revenge, we are not made weak

there’s no stark failure in missed reprisal, only a way out from pain,

She often tells me how good I am, a bright light for sad and grim nights,

The phrase is a knife voices of strife caroling “you’re not good enough”,

Are those judges right? Our time together was short an ill-fated love,

it hurts so much to know I never stood a chance adrift in our pain

It hurts so much to see someone else do better, I stew in failure,

An apt bath for me, an over-thinker beaten, a sad runner-up,

I can only keep crawling out of the deep depths ignoring “what-ifs”

Futile fantasies dangerous speculation that keeps the chains on,

I’m caught daydreaming about phantom victories, about if she stayed,

It doesn’t matter, I don’t have combat training or psych diplomas,

the apparent tools needed to navigate love, to stoke loyalty,

Then I remember the words of the wise spirits flitting in my brain,

“Whatever is meant For you will never, ever pass you by, never.”

That phrase a quick salve To soothe old burns that blister on my braised shoulders

I’m too worried about old wars looking for credit that will never be given it is foolish and throwing barbs at her will change anything but cement why she was right to leave,

It is stupid to expect glory after all only the winners are remembered losers end up minor footnotes in notable opponents knocked out,

That’s probably all I am at this point, another mistake before the best choice, she says it isn’t about doing things right after she laundry lists all the good he does,

He sat through your storm the right way, He sifted through your stuff the right way. He has similar trauma so he understands the right way. But for me it was never the right way.

I fought so much because someone had to I seem to have been reduced to only my failures just the yelling and friend fucking the rest of my love meant nothing,

this is how it always is, everyone tells me not to dwell but much of what I’m reminded of is how I was wrong,

I’m tired of being told my love “wasn’t enough”,

It was the gas that fueled every sacrifice sliced out of myself

The power I drew from to try and make a home for us,

I am aware it isn’t said to be hurtful but it cuts all the same,

this again makes me question why did I do it all then?

this again makes me question why ever do it again?

when the only thing that seems to linger on my lovers Is the stain of the mistakes I made

my voices laugh always a brain of cackling grenades

“you’ll always just be the nursemaid, a bandage to be replaced, always.”

these days it matters much less the choices were made and consequences addressed

Corrosion wells up, again compelling me to poison myself hard,

I hold residue, a venomous film settled deep inside myself,

These days I’m scrubbing the black grime of resentment out of my insides,

It resides in the back of my throat, waiting to fall like hard bolts,

I am learning to become a stout lightning rod bile passing through me,

She said I was a bees nest. I rant once again, a buzzing vent,

I’ve spent days on that wondered if I’m vinegar if I’m repellant,

old development venom now irrelevant purge or it settles,

the barbs of others real or imagined can’t sting if you don’t let them,

They keep saying the path is coming the golden path,

Reclaim the disowned parts of you That yearn for love and assuredness,

You cup your hands for validation from sirens It slips through your fingers,

These meager mouthfuls aren’t worth it the lake in you is still swirling,

It is there you are loved, you are your own wellspring,

The nourishing fountain and not the whirlpool a maelstrom whipped up by you,

I’m unlearning how to bristle upon waking, better to rejoice

In more new chances, pain doesn’t make for a good well-balanced breakfast

For a fresh day sent And better left spent dodging babbling resentments

Intense, it’d be a lie to say it is easy, at least I’m alive

Best get to marchin’ focused on my path and not the roads left darkened

Originally Posted: June 13th, 2018

Devourers often project, it's how they avoid accountability

I know. I've often wielded that knife against the skin of the undeserving because that's all I am to some, just venomous victim, corrosive caroler who is pointing at everyone else's hand in betrayal but I see the three fingers underneath, snaking into my own ribs

I'm just as culpable, hand on the dagger's hilt heavily but these aren't contender stories or missives for sympathy they are medicine to keep the wires from slicing me up to keep the puppeteers of the past in their little boxes, to drain the self-righteous outrage and move forward for self, God forbid I try to express anything or I'll just be labeled a dweller in the depths of a sea of slights,

I have a right to feel.

I can't understand why some don't just see someone trying to soothe some deep burns from people who are hypnotized by the fraying edges of their crackling lives I know the pressure of the heat, I'm a serial arsonist too.

I didn't know it all or have the answers but I loved with everything, even when you bled me I still did, even though you left me I still do, but I promised myself to finally show up for me even if no one else does, out of many it might be The best lesson you ever taught I thought I was an irrelevant ghost incapable of touching nerves here in my little corner, my sacrifices being belittled by song are kinda amusing,

It's another nail to remind me that you could never love me because you don't see me, not in full anyway just someone else who couldn't hack it, another jailor who did as much as he could with all the weight he carried,

I wanted us to win you wanted us to hurt, after all your life was on fire and I kept having to "figure it out" the phrase you most hated but eagerly spat it at me, did you want me to be Eliot so bad did you want me to be Kishore so bad

Did you ever love me or was I another stand-in until you found somebody better?

If so, I get it I've made a career off that role with no residuals to show for it, it's funny you know, we would plan, but I was the only one left to execute except when you were alight with mania, I liked this version of you, at least she got things done, and was the happiest I'd seen you I acknowledged your effort to push through while you called my suffering "beestings" even though you were in a black vortex and didn't leave the house for weeks begging me to feed your vices,

You complain heavily about a woman's time being wasted but don't see the irony as I slowly but surely crawl from the wrecked husk of all my used up resources retirement funds, favors from friends, overtime-taxed limbs, an already overclocked psyche that now walks on eggshells because of all your accusations of negating you with sea lion blustering, only you could see abuse in debates while you tore me down for unfinished laundry or shoes in the house, you had all the patience for broken friends but none for your protector to acclimate to you and your precious neuroses,

But hey, I'm just making it all up to look good to all right? bound by wires and bitching my brain does tells all even my ugly parts I played, does yours, noble heroine?

Did I miss my chance? the spirits say destiny never misses you,

After she vented during our talk this afternoon I thought on her needs,

The old wounds cried out, but I knew I could not make this about my pain,

I am her support, I have to be brave enough to stand on the tracks

Waiting for her flames, she is a locomotive I brace for impact,

Her force is still fierce but it burns much less these times, I still stood upright,

I am struggling to wrangle those thoughts of being looked at as nothing,

The constant buzzing of self-inflicted fictions is quite maddening,

Torturing myself With the fact that I’ve been left on the back burner,

That’s no real surprise, who would want to stay with a bitter salt creature?

I feel repellant, which is stupid because I have a sweet partner,

Yet the past murmurs, loves with new beaus who are like me but better,

The constant patter of imaginary laughs new couples happy,

Mocking me as if I’m important enough to bring up anyway,

The buzzing thoughts swirl To drag me down into my favorite vortex,

The sadness lets these old ghosts live rent-free in me back to oldest flame,

I am struggling to shrug off my depression, she’s an evil girlfriend,

A fan of cutting, I’ve lost my taste for her mad cuts on my slit eyes,

I can no longer be like Penelope, glued to her parapet,

Originally Posted: June 12th, 2018

Our first anniversary would've been this week.

All you had to do was work with me to knead our futures out together into a braid, a chain maintained by our faith in each other's power free of the splintered trauma we rubbed on our skin our selves, our eyes, stained with the rust of a cynic's vision, I envisioned better for us so did you until you made me the enemy covered in your ancient side-eyeing enmity for manipulation,

All I wanted was for you to be happy and feel like dying a little less, I guess that's what you have now that you've wiped the tar of your soul off on me got with the dollar store version of me that you've called "pathetic," but now he's your everything, another safety net to save you while I was left holding the bag AGAIN,

Where was Tennyson when your ex abused you, and you said to leave it alone when I offered to teach him a lesson with me and my closest friends?

Where was Tennyson when you fled Oregon because you were stuck in a meth motel waiting for your assault trial with a spastic dog you didn't need?

Where was Tennyson through all your tear-streaked calls on your way to California 

after I worked double shifts to help you?

Where was Tennyson wading through your relationship drama with that fucking eunuch, to soothe your sexual frustrations?

Where was Tennyson when you were in Cali with your former crackhead girlfriend and struggling to eat, get high, and not be homeless?

Where was Tennyson to get you across the country because Erin couldn't stand you do-nothing bitches?

Where was Tennyson to pay your airfare to settle your court case where you hit Eliot with a fan and not a flyswatter like you repeatedly said,

Where were any of these people as I watched you literally dying in front of me to your heart, the killer?

Where were any of these niggas who are clamoring to meet up with you now that I'm gone?

Where were any of your so-called friends as you suffered and burned? They were offering wishes and prayers while I put food in your stomach, booze and drugs in your brain, support in your heart, dick in your ass,

All that earned me was a knife in the back, idiot monologues from Justin, and spit in the face from you.

I'm wondering if you saw any good from being with me, fleeting beatings of the heart, or am I another demon like the rest?

You expected all the patience in the world from me and I didn't even warrant a full year.

Did anything I did mean anything to you?

Or was I another means to an end that was your favorite until my "stupid questions" and concern annoyed you into abandoning me after all that planning, all that effort, all that yelling, all that grinding away, all that self-loathing all your encouragement "not to hurt my boyfriend."

The buzzing is loud the taunts of the voices set to pick me apart,

“How could you ever be good enough to attract? She’s right about you”,

I want to be glad for their newfound love, but I’m a mad, sore loser,

Wishing them well while I boil inside jealously over their bright joy,

Covetously, I’m housing envy, remembering what that love felt like,

That means I am fake, a frienemy smiling with balled-up fists in fits,  

I cannot be that, an abusive snake sidling up with silver tongue,

I met my new therapist today.  There isn't much of a story here; I just wanted to write about something, which makes for good practice. We'll call her Stacy.  She was very nice after we overcame the shittiness of Microsoft Teams.  

Man, I wish I had invested in Zoom somehow. Or fuck, Gamestop like two weeks ago.  

Anyway, we talked over Whatsapp instead and got to know each other a bit. She asked if I had ever seen any other therapists, why I was seeking therapy, and other assorted small talk questions.  I am primarily writing about this because she gave me a sort of homework to do.

"What do you hope to get out of these sessions together?"

Stacy asked me to write it on pen and paper, but this is easier and less wasteful.  So I am here on yet another Friday night, full of jealousy and stupid feelings for people who don't care, getting these reps in.

First and foremost, I want to figure out if I need to take medication to deal with what I feel like is severe depression and anxiety. Going it alone is not working, so seeking a professional opinion is crucial before I put anything into my body and brain.  I know I need help, and if pills help me chill the fuck out enough to get out of my own way, I will at least try it out.

Secondly, I've always valued therapy ever since childhood, where Eric Wilde helped me overcome my shyness in expressing myself and teaching me how to play chess. Astonishingly, I didn't seek that same help out when troubled by Mom's death. Didn't seek it when grappling with the obsessive grudges. Didn't seek it out when fighting with the possessiveness I have for people, especially the women in my life.

Originally Posted: June 11th, 2018

On days like today, I feel infected by bile I’ve long steeped in it,

I am terrified because I don’t want to stay like this, progress slashed,

I am terrified because I promised myself again and again,

I am terrified at how eagerly I seek to add more new scars,

I am terrified because I write about this to purge all the sludge,

I am terrified because I’ve long carried that that old psychic weight,

But the knives still call to cut real deep and be right about the shit world,

Originally Posted: June 10th, 2018

It is easy to claim decency and honor when you emerged victorious from yet another campaign of erosion, you picked fanatically at the dam that protected you then complained about the raging flood

I understood that your habit of looking gift horses in the mouth stems from those who carried razorblades under their tongues to drag across your life, yet you could only seem to crush me between zero sum games and rock-and-a-hard-place statements,

All I ever wanted from you was a hand to hold, not a hand down to diminish you, not a hand out to leech you, not a backhand to chastise you, not a closed hand to choke you