spent in the work/sleep haze.
i find myself calling you the ex's name
too often. what is it about this relationship
that feels the same? i have no desire
to cheat in fact desire
is absent in so much of my life right now.
i miss the desire to write most but i willingly traded it
for a love, who, ironically enough desired
the writing side of me.I write my poems in air
on tounge, epiglotis, lips. silently as birdsong
on a page, antithesis of writing.
dear r am i the ass
for not wanting to raise a choice i had no say in?
i didn't even get to cum. today there is a soccer game
at daycare. the afternoon sun threatens mid C degrees
the company comprised of those i've either out
or haven't grown into yet. i made it clear to all but the child
this is not my burden. i will help but only as far as i am able
and i am not able to attend the child's game because i'm
on vacation. this was not in the scheduled.
and even if i were available, which i'm not
because i am unvailable to all i am
on vacation
i am opposed because his behaviour
embarrasses me. i didn't do well with my own son's
and am prone to witchiness with his- i realize it's
the consequence of responsibility
to household, of fictiitious relativativy of love
and that 's where i'm failing. i don't have enough love
for this little one because because i don't like him much
i think he's spoiled and bratty and maybe it's just the age
cuz sometimes he's amenable and polite but he knows
and i know and he knows i know that these are only
acts of experimentation, just something he's trying on
to see if it fits and i don't know if it's his age or
to be bratty and toddlerish, but i do know that he has
trouble with his emotions and control of them
the whiny argumentative, pedantic, rule making
must get my way i was born on a special day kid
and i think maybe he'd be served by going to church
on sunday with his great gramma (to be clear, not be)
or googling how many OTHER kids were born
on 'his" day.
on the other hand, i remember his birth day
as yet another family event spoiled by his daughter
and my expectations due to promises
again unmet. resentment from the get go.
just a small one to remind that life isn't mine
to direct. but must their burdens, their choices, be mine?
if i had put my foot down, his aunt and uncle
would have been happy to take him in, if the state allowed.
they never asked. i didn't force it. my burden. for inaction.
all of my failures due to inaction. vertigo of the possible
until some other observation triggered the collapse.
i argued for it. i explained my reasons, all to no avail.
i told him my boundaries, i would be the room mate
of a single parent. i would be gramma when needed.
gramma who don't raise her daughter's kids. i pay for
my girl's seperate house. can't be 2 queens
in a nest. other reasons. suffice to say
i pay in one way or another. and right now
i pay for my vacation by washing the boy's
pissed upon sheets but
i'm not going to a daycare soccer game.
*
well that was settled before, but now i've written it into being.
*
all of march i watched the spring days
blow across . no rain , perfect sky low
humidity mild temps. i didn't open
the windlows because of you i didn't
write at night, have cheesecake or cereal
for dinner because of you i
did not lie in my bed for hours
scrolling because of you i didn't write
because of you, i was listening
to your tales of woe and if you paused
and i spoke for a moment twas only
to be negated or pointedly corrected.
just to keep the record straight and your son
is just like that. i am double teamed
and asked to keep my tongue. i purposely
take on the role of bad guy
to avoid the argument or is that you i mean
we have 12 years now. it's april. it's spring.
have we always argued this way?
i find myself calling you f oh fuck you
i say to recover but no i can't
i think of you that way? what the actual fuck?
so i'm trying to piece out why
and it eludes me. i guess i need therapy.
how to figure out why and i can stop?
all through the month we met i think of you
this way. it should cause a rise but you ignore
it all but that once and i told you i don't understand why
and it still comes out. my instinct is to run.
i have a room of my own i insisted it was
a condition. and now i'm seven days in
to a ten day vacation and this is the first time
i really sat down to write.
everything else i haven't done nags
the butts on the porch
the drought starved yard
the flag of screen waving in the hot breeze.
death occupied the air next door for a week or two
that's one reason the windows stayed closed
i dunno, a possum, a kitten, a rat, a duckling
but the neighbors let it rot
till it samk into the ground. shifting
breezes brought it to us for a fortnight.
i dunno, an omen, a sign, a foretelling, a fact
of mortality? how long do i want to remain
in a carcass of what we were? it' s not that way
any longer. no need to grieve ir anymore.
let the bones lie.
*
i need to talk about my daughter
a victim of ptsd from the childhood rape/
lover from her uncle. i mean i just need to say
that it's ok that i'm working to give her half
if she's working to heal enough to deal
with her life choices. no matter the mental circumstances.
she has 4 kinds. be a mom honey. take care of them.
there are resouces. i'm tapped. sorry.
i'll be dead one day, then what will youdo?
cry in your bed all through march
while your children starve around you?
edit: just read february's entry.
i call you f because you betrayed me
and wouldn't talk about it afterwards.
that's why.
now what homie?
