For once, I’d like to catch a break.
Just one day to actually LIVE.
I’d like to be able to dress up, do my make up,
and go to a fancy dinner
Where I didn’t have to either microwave or order my meal through an intercom.
For once I’d like to be 21.
Have a cute little drink, just one. All I want is just one.
I’d like to be able to not think about money, or what I can afford,
to see something I like and not think twice about buying it.
I just want a day to live my age.
I know these were my choices, I got pregnant, and I chose to keep the baby.
And I love her with all I’ve got and then some
but dammit, this isn’t living anymore.
For once, I’d like to pretend like my relationship is as young as it is
and we aren’t a bickering, married-for-40-years couple.
I’d like to look at other people my age’s lives and for once, not be jealous.
I just want a day to live my age.
it’s all falling apart, I’d like to blame everyone else for any reason why it is but I know the feelings came from one source: me.
I don’t like it here.
I don’t want to be here.
I am unhappy here.
This was supposed to be our grand re-opening of the better time in our life. It’s turned into another regret. Same shit, different day. Whatever shitty luck we had back then, well it got angry that we tried to leave it so it followed us here and sucked up everything from our souls and grew into something heavier and darker and meaner. All I can think, in all my anger right now, is fuck this and fuck that and fuck them and fuck you.
I booked my trip back home. Back to O’ahu. Back to the other shitty luck with better company. I won’t look back. I will ignore the expectations I know I’ll conjure up in my head and just jump neck first into the depths of realities cruel fucking hands. Waiting to snatch me yet again and shake me from sleep and say “HEY TUA, wake the fuck up! Shit sucks, it’s gonna suck more, and the best part is that this shit’s all real and you can’t run away from it!” Yeah? Well fuck you too reality. I hope I’ll break my neck in the fall.
Like holding onto a metal pole with oiled hands. You can keep grabbing forward and up but gravity will deny you and your weight will pull you down and down until you fucking crash. If it wasn’t for my baby girl, I wouldn’t be so scared of the consequences of killing myself tonight. What if I took this knife an just jammed it into my throat, wait for someone to come knocking on the locked door, see if they’ll notice I’ve been in here for however long before they realize something’s wrong. There’s always something wrong. There’s so many ways I could count, I’d be a pussy and want to the fastest way out, only so that there isn’t time to regret my decision.
I like to think I’m about one step ahead. Another false interpretation of myself. Like when I thought I was nice. HAH! I don’t know where or how or when but I am now the farthest opposite of nice. And incapable. So incapable of pulling out.
totally trying this.
nothing could go any more wrong than it already has.
at this very moment, I will let my baby cry and cry and cry for me.
Right now just needs to be me.
I don’t mean to be selfish. But this could make or break me.
This could be it.
and somehow I’ve been ready. and waiting.
since it’s here, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.
Somehow, I’ve become numb to my heart.
And I’m okay, I’m alright, I don’t mind the least.
At this very moment, I’m fuckin ready. Bring it on.
Pooh doesn’t give a bother.
instead of holding my tongue. I miss my sister.