“I am God”, said an asswipe.
Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.
All you bloody did was see a shrink,
Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.
Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,
You proclaim that you are the best.
You can walk on water,
Do things like in the gutter.
Make wine out of pee-pee,
Glamorous gold shit-shit.
Fucking whores on a schoolnight,
I’mma choke your windpipe.
Don’t mess with me, dickhead,
Might light fire to your fucking bed.
Phoney baloney bastards,
A match made in hell,
Selling shit like Starbucks.
If I didn’t know, I couldn’t tell.
All bling-bling without a ting,
All ting-ting without warning.
Fuck you to damnation, you toad slime.
I’mma gonna curse you till it’s my time.
Nah, I am not imitating,
To see if I can spew venom
This isn’t over,
My head’s in the shitter,
I say, doesn’t matter
To the man in the mirror.
Dangles her baby,
Saying, here, take it.
I love you more,
Than I love the baby.
And you still sneer,
And say, fuck off.
You feel empty,
You were unhappy,
You selfish prick,
You had to fill the hole,
With my shattered soul?
You had to make yourself happy,
By making me feel crappy?
Yes, it’s true what they say. Money cannot buy you happiness. But it sure can buy you 5 star vacations and that’s about as happy as a grown-up can get. Sure, there’s the unhinged, unwavering, unwarranted happiness that is in a child. But that child grows up, in a society fret with problems. Problems created by grown-ups who build schools and colleges to help solve those problems. Talk about going in circles.
I have been on the planet over three decades and I can narrow down to two moments of sheer joy: one, when I married my now adulterous husband, and two, when I saw the man holding my baby in his arms. If that isn’t true love, I fail to see what is. And that same man denied me a hug a minute ago because “he needed some time apart”. I don’t even have any Valiums on me to counter that shrug. All I can do is whine to the world, where I know I am not even going to be heard. This man, he cheated, lied, and beat me up and blamed me for everything. I have started thinking that maybe I am the monster who torments someone so much they want to beat the shit out of them.
I have sobbed, slept on hotel floors, waited for a taxi at 2 in the morning because I was thrown out of the house, made to leave my child behind, been called a whore who can’t even sell her body for sex, and beaten up black and blue; why? Because I asked this person why he needed another woman in his life.
Five tequila shots down, I finally have the courage to share my story. I know there would be several women out there going through this and worse shit possible. If you are one of them, leave a message and the least we can do is give a metaphorical shoulder to cry upon. YES, face it, world! Women cry. They’re not being melodramatic, they’re just being real.
And if you are one of those wife-beaters, please, for the love of whatever you love, stop doing that, no matter how much she provokes you. You were born out of a woman. And just because someone annoys you or you are filled with rage, does not give you the right to hit a woman. Women are not the weaker sex. Women are the smarter sex. That’s why “housewives” is more common than “househusbands”. That’s right, we put our pedicured feet up and send the man to make money to buy us shoes.
In spite of everything, a woman would do anything in her power and beyond to protect her family. She is not just a mama bear to her sons and daughters. She’s mothering you as well, the “breadwinner”. She’s the glue that keeps it together; without her, everything would fall all over. RESPECT, mofos, RESPECT!
What is it called,
When the left side of the body,
Feels heavier and hurting,
Like someone smashed it with hammer?
What is it called,
When catatonia takes over,
A perfectly healthy body,
Like all the blood is drained out?
What is it called,
When the eyes go dry,
But there’s loud sobs,
Like a whale separated from it’s calf?
What is it called,
When you are in a crowd,
But are left alone crying,
Like a war torn border?
What is it called,
When the shoulders are slumped,
Walking in the rain
Like a wet pup looking for a home?
On a rainy, dark night,
A grave was dug.
The wet soil, fret with worms.
Worms waiting to feast on one.
The trees dripped with cold drops,
The empty hole in the ground, soft.
Not a sound, except the scythe,
The corpse turned from red to blue,
Waiting for it’s last avenue.
The bats chittered, smelling the death.
Rain poured, like the sky was torn.
The mud, the dust, the coffin,
Lay in wait to be put in place.
No people gathered, no tears shed.
Images and water, rose like a stench,
From the already deceased and unclaimed.
In the waiting.
Pills like Nurse Jackie,
Chicken and rosemary,
Silver tooth glittering.
Shot glasses, lime wedges,
Shite music blaring.
Anxious and loving,
Caring and soothing,
Tossed out without thinking.
Anger and frustration,
Raging bitch manifestation.
Sleep now, little one.
Mama’s gotta be strong,
For you and them bones.
Breathe in, breathe out,
If it wasn’t for that drought,
There’d be water in the well,
And we’d kill the mademoiselle.
Is it just me, or did anyone else make the connection of “Wine Country” on Netflix with “The Hangover”?
Of course, all these stellar lady comic geniuses coming together is no match to the hunky “The Hangover” bunch, but heck! I connected with them.
It was perfectly timed, bad news with a sprinkle of fairy dust, lady laughs, cussing and swearing and Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph and Tina Fey and Katherine Hahn (I may have misspelt, what with 6 Buds down) can do no wrong. Go girl power!
While I fight my own battles with this bitch of a life, these fun, successful women have helped a lot dealing with this pain and anger.
Move over, Phil Todd’s hunky Hangover, it’s time to break the glass ceiling with women being funny and silly. Tears of joy, laughter of sadness- this movie was like an ice cream before hitting the hay.
Much love, from one broken woman to all those broken ones out there. 🤗
I got one way tickets,
To a place I don’t want to go.
I have no home,
But here I am, not being slow.
I am asked to leave,
Because I fought,
For the love of my life,
And for being a bad wife.
I did nothing wrong,
Or so I think.
When I was shown my flaws,
I began to sink.
With a heavy heart,
I kissed my child,
Told him to go to school,
And not be a tool.
A decade of happiness,
Was deciphered as unhappiness.
I had no idea I was living a lie,
I thought everything was,
As sweet as a pie.
My two best men,
They let me go;
To face the world,
With a broken mould.
I want to go back,
And give them a hug.
But I know, before long,
I will be a rug.
My tears mean nothing,
My heart is still longing,
For that one person to say,
You belong here darling.
Hit the brake pedals,
To let my legs stroll through.
Yeah, it was a red light,
But I can have them stop,
Even at a green light.
Everyone gets old,
Everyone gets mangled;
Corroded hearts and
Like Pearl Jam says,
I am MINE.
I know this sucks, it’s neither poetry or prose. But this is a venting platform for me and when absolute strangers say, good going, it pulls me away from the dark abyss. Thanks for reading!
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