tenderness

 i dont 

i can't even what 

is that word. baby 

fat melting into roased flesh

butter on asparagus

siam thai's panang chicken slices

dealing with feelings here dealing with harsh

realities. i don't like this kid. 

i was creulla NO the wicked step mother 

with claws and teeth out

earlier after crappy interactions by his lordship

with the household staff. nicely asked for milk

on his cearal then stated his thirst. several times

with the housemaid politely commiserating

each time but not serving as nothing

was asked of her, politely or otherwise

his lordship, not getting the hint

deduced drink would not be forthcoming so

drank the milk from the dregs of his cereal

then left the table, entetainment in hand.

his pappa reminded him to clear his bowl

as the housemaid was washing the dishes

and would include his but he answered

nonchalantly, i am gonna do..but was 

interrupted by the lady of the house emerging

from the handmaid's face yelling BOY

YOU WILL come here instantly and pick 

up your plates. 

it;s a bowl her replied, looking up from his tablet

to see the face of doom aimed directly

at his eyes. 

do NOT TALK BACK TO ME

you little asshole, i am tired to FUCKING

death of your smartass , know better than 

royal fucking shit get that mutherfucking DISH

off the table and wash it yourself!

i do not like this kid.

and maybe he needs some takedown 

in his life  but honestly i dont want to be that guy,

***

waiting for the call from my daughter

on the birth of her fourth child

or impending. i'm to mind the others

while she's birthing. interestingly enough

she's not found out the gender. i'm with her

on surprises. they can be joyful.

happy anything day

 why aren't i ?

happy about anything. 

i am depressed. maybe not clinically as i do

brush my hair. i eat maybe

too much but not morbidly obese so

anyway let me count the ways

i think mostly it's cuz i don't therapy write

anymore because it's too much trouble to

move the computer into my room and that's because

you own't /havn't bought the replacement for your pos

you know who you are. so i just give in 

to using mine for what yours was formerly used for.

grrr 

there is always the fact of this unchosen motherhood

but by now i have to admit that keeping it going

has become a choice. i am scared of moving on

or changing yet change is living while

no change would be to die in the moment

then body changes andd then poof gone

but that's just platitudes. i should change

jobs for sure. but i'm so close to retirement as if

i really ever will be able to . pretty sure death

will come first. so that's a pipe dream.  retirement.

i enjoy my job but i will not enjoy being at the top 

of the pay scale they arbitrily decide to install

now that i  can breath slightly and i do mean slightly

i will not enjoy making progressively less money

as the years inflate. i will not enjoy

that i have made a promise to self and fucked up 

daughter that i will pay her rent for 8 more years

unless she gets pregnant again. becuase she will

and i will still pay because i am such a pushover

and i will not enjoy not being able to help 

my son in any financial way becuase of that..

it just sucks that everything sucks to life from me.

and the tools in the world

will not hdlp me cope with a promise

i made to myself, to him, to them, to her.

why is my son alwyas gotta be the left out?

of course the sadistic malicious gods

are out in force, and i don't understand how

when i give them their duely surprised 

worship they still insist on their personaolty traits

as if they can't change/! i mean come on woh are they

but the manifestation of our deepest desire?

it is true that i just  WANT to feel used and abused?

one time you told me i am a masochist. i barely believed you

i don't need to cut myself to porve i'm alive. 

i have all these miniature memories

i have all these welling tears of joy

i cry sometimes, at tohter people's 

receipt or gifting joy

and i wonder who's all dead now, 

rather than merely dead to me

and find i don't wanna know cuz 

it makes no difference and that 

makes me feel as if maybe there's

something wrong with me

lol. which i know there is. 

resigned slave. worn out slave.

i'm sure the going will not be easy

because why would i deserve that?

lighting strike?

you wish. lol. maybe that would be

the best way! stand outside during

a thunderstorm , dare the lightning

god that's been chasing me for 40  years

to strike me down. that would have to 

be instant. wouldn't it? 

stop running from fate.

***

contacted the cousin

cuz why not

that always keeps in touch

thru emojis n such

always a happy drunk philosphy

i envy her that

gave her my angst, she fed 

it back with her own history

which maybe i needed that

some outside perspective

how it's not so awfully bad just

not ideal and by the way 

we'll get out of this burning car

if we just break the glass

tunnel out of this poverty prison

with enough time death

immanent anyway so going for it

seems prudent. maybe i got high

that last time i can't be sure i was

talking to the pastt, how naively

positive she seens. 

on the wall are the hearts i stile

from you thru attrition, ones you

didn't paint, bleeding black 

ballons from thier centers

only one, a thumbnail sketch

of where we were. a wilted rose

hides in the musddy swmauve swamp

a printfed lake feeds teh bbtoom 

with some kind of purity 

that will not be found again.

this iswhyd i keep it

acrlic on a silkscreen pane

that's really how i think about love.

frozen and moving both uyp

and down at the same time. 

hanging over the crystal water

where the blue comes from 

your eye

^^

so the plan is this.

don't die for a while. 

ward off the sickness with 

fruits and smiles.

laugh more. 

money isn't the way.  hopefully

they'll lay off you wabout the hours

now that i've p,ayed thier game

paid for the reference. if not then 

i mmean i like my job, what i do.

i don't dislike it all. just the management.

and there's only like 8 more years max

i need to do this. i can go part time

in five, after the car's paid off. well,

maybe not, depeds on the state of inflation

i'll only be on the down side of my sixties

that's the new not dead yet!

&&&

oh and momma,

this year i don'w wonder if you'd be my friend. i'm kinda sure we would be, given the nature of your glue.  you'd probably be dead now anyway. though gramma lived to her late 80s. so maybe not. i struggle to think you wouldn't stifll love dad, in all his f70's dad glory. i stuggle to think if weould have broken out of the booomer mindset. the greattest getn tweener you  both were. i wonder if we factully would have grouwn closer. i think maybe you could have helped to translate what dad meant by PMS when he was trying to say my duaghter had been raped. i widsh that could have happened. but i mean why sit here and reminesce about things you didn't get to do? why not tell about the things you did, how it felt to knnow your daughter was embarrassed by you, resented your talent with the needle, wished to be an adopted . because she wouldn't believe she was yours. because i felt like an outsider sin the family. barely there. an afterthought or scapegoat. a liar, unworthy of your love. remember that time i faked my leg being broken? how old was i? we lived in lakeland so mewhere between 1st and 4th grade. why did i do tht\at? i mean i kept it up for days until the emergency room doctor declared that there was no physical reason for my pain..

it must have been there though i don't remember feeling it. i lied. for days. cuz i knjow it sounds sstipid , monday morning quarterbacking excuse but maybe i was in pain. emotional pain from the lack of attention. if i was physically hurt then i would be the favofite. daddy wouldn't yell, momma would protect me.  i knew i was lying, but i wouldn't let up. i made them take me to the ermergency room. made YOU , momma. was it before the molesting babysitter or after? i won't ever know, u nless sister has these memories. she was still young but the babysitter got her too. this is how owmen make love she said. it felt good. i didn't know it was wrong. we never talked about it, momma, why?one day she was one. maybe big sister said something i'm sure i was secretely glad. do you remember the aftermath? was that befor e the broken leg? did daddy ekver even know?

i think we could have been adult friends momma, but i dono't know. you couldn't even tell me about periods, so one hopes you could have grown in your middle age, matured and been able to help guide me away from the broken man that was my ex. my baby daddy, my first boyfriend. i had no  buisness having children with him. maybe you could have told me that. maybe i could have not been in all those wasted years. but probably not. so i don't blame you at all. i just wonder sometimes. that's all.

love you,

your daughter