Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

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Unleash

Fuuuuuuccccckkkkk you!

Fuck me.

Fuck everyone.

Fuck arsonists.

Fuck firemen.

Fuck doctors

Fuck diseased.

Fuck lifeguards.

Fuck drowning.

Fuck pilots.

Fuck planes.

Fuck water.

Fuck boatmen.

Can I just get a wrecking ball,

Or a baseball bat,

And smash everything?

Or should I just walk in deep waters,

And attend my own sea burial?

**No offence to any professions. Respect. Just rants of a fucked up woman

Once again, I hit refresh,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I check the dial tone,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I hope against hope,

A million times, I cry.

Once again, I pray,

A million times, to make it right.

Once again, my heart breaks,

A million little pieces scattered.

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?