As i sit here, with 6 sam adams in my stomach, i feel my bitterness rise up within me like a gag reflex from drinking too much. it all happens at once, together. So i look for some female, one strong woman to look to. That woman who has feeling, intuition, and equality with differences, as well as balance to look up to, and i find myself empty handed.
Where is she? Am i supposed to wait for my own mother teresa and follow in their lead? or is this the sign that women need a proud failure to look up to for prose and poetry and feel the feeling inside. All i have is anger, to the men, to myself. And not even to men itself, but the men that have so deeply impacted me. Significant others, and the ones above. I do not want to be set aside for the bouts of depression, i do not want to be set aside for the things that women are known for. but how can i say no when i, myself, suffer from these things.
How i hate and love the things that make me a woman. I love to provide, to make, and create a sense of comfort. And yet I hate the fact that it can be looked down upon. Menstruation against Menopause, home-makers against the feminists, the insecurities feed upon us like vultures. And i sit here with anger, knowing that my own vultures are eating away at themselves.
Dear God How I understand Eve's plight. How I desire perfection and hate being second. How these thoughts have rocked my beliefs and the core of who i thought i was. How slow i am to come to who i can be. How i stare at the figs and relate to Ms. Plath in her attempts of her personal journey. How I clench my fists towards Jack Kerouac and his ramblings. His beautiful chauvinist ramblings, i hate to understand where he comes from and how i quote his words.
Why can i not appreciate human kind for the fact that we are all human, why cannot i believe in the gender i fight for, but still get lost in the differences of eachother.








Mr. Zen Man, with every post i leave, i wait for your balanced comment.

if i were anything on my keyboard it would be the backspace button

god how the mildew grows. taking over everything, how i can smell it when i smile. leaves me thinking of what is there to remember. something so familiar, this bitterness. i can feel it climb over the walls of my insides so the light cannot come in. hear the degradation of my former self in this rotten body of mine. and when i crumple on the floor like a pile of dirty clothes, i wait for the people i know to come pick me up. but it has gotten so heavy, and their arms have grown ever so tired.
the tips of my fingers are so tender from plucking the double strings of an instrument i cannot play. of a thing that requires rhythm and i give it my half-ass attempt to create something that is beautiful.
the tips of my toes are so tender from walking where my feet couldn't go. wrong shoes. wrong place. drag them along stubbornly, forget about the pain and go. and go. and go.

paralyzed eyes

contrast on two floors, downstairs i can hear the laughter echoing, upstairs it's only me breathing softly. self medication. self- mutilation. there's nothing left to offer except my own confusion. i swallowed everything you gave me like table scraps to the dog. begging for more, but cries were ignored. last night was freedom, this morning only shows me a daze. give me something heavy to get me on my feet. move on move on. paralyzed eyes, stuck on a vision only i can see. spread myself across the ocean, feed me to the fishes. those philosophical junkies will take the bait. fuck you and your forced thoughts. your motivation eats away at me.

i don't know where this is going.