Not what I want.

it would make a scene, I suspect,

if I caused among those who are surrounding  me

the kind of pain I carry

(not to brag, she said with false humility, but there’s a fair bit trapped inside)


(and honestly, they own much of it).


the blood spatter, however, would make extra work for our waitress,

and service workers are overworked, underpaid, borderline-slave labour.

they don’t need me bringing more pain

(the temptation to throw a punch at tormenting friends is strong, notwithstanding).

who knew midlife would feel so violent?

who knew I could hate those I love?

(“hate” is a strong word: let’s use “frustrated rage” instead).


it surprises them, I suspect,

when I hold them accountable:

personal responsibility is a rare thing


it’s easier to find a unicorn.


(my subcutaneous hostility bubbles out and my people are puzzled:

I sympathize: natural consequences are a shock to the system)


it hurts me; it’s hard, travelling alone.

(swallow it down: there are no boundaries in this tribe.)


I don’t want this world that I’ve made, but change is difficult:

our species is too fond of the status quo

(the genetic apathy doesn’t serve us well.)

6 thoughts on “Not what I want.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.