I’m So Pissed that I Can’t Even Write

Part 1: Any woman that has ever loved you, really just needed to forgive their father. 

I don’t know if this will be a poem or a letter. 

Perhaps a bit of both. 

I had to write before it consumed me further. 

This feeling of anguish cannot be carried farther. 

You set yourself up to my rejection again. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times…

You are selfish. A damn child in the body of a man. If this isn’t rock bottom for you, it’s surely an accelerated path. 

The word coward comes to mind when I think of you. Lazy, worthless, deadbeat too.

Disappointment tangible when I consider all you’ve done to lose. 

I cried when I put the phone down. How dare you make me say it out loud again…

How much it hurts to tell you no, when I know what might have been!

Don’t make me tell you about your spending habits, endless bar nights…don’t make me remind you that you haven’t taken your son in over two fortnights.

Where’s the money you don’t have? The support you can never muster?

Where is your energy lacking when you are day drinking on the clock….calling me from the bar on a Monday and it’s not even 12 o’clock.  

How I tried to love you in the interim. 

It’s forsaken now…the effort wasted. I will not say yes to your pleas for my attention. 

Three months have past since I died daily in my affliction

(I mean to say my affections). 

Don’t call me today, and act like there’s hope in the ashes. 

After I burned my hope to the ground in tears and hostility. 

The best thing you ever did for me was break my heart in selfish cruelty. 

I’m free, and you can’t come back. 

I’m free. I may cry because it hurts, but you can’t come back. 

Call another woman to raise you, because I won’t. I refuse to be your mother.

Cry when your texts go unanswered…left on read because I can’t muster the strength to respond to your arrogance. 

I’m not going to keep giving you the chance to raise your voice. 

Do you honestly think you can argue me out of my standards…now? Now when I have peace and days that do not stretch in depressive bouts?  

You bring chaos and uncertainty. You bring disease. 

I was serious when I said, “I’m sick of you.” 

Because you make me sick. 

You are not a prize to be missed. 

I’m going to hold space for somebody that brings value to my life…a space you can’t fit.

Part 2: Somewhere Since

I ordered takeout for one. 

Two egg rolls and a serving of crab rangoons. 

My fortune cookie’s submission,

“In retrospect, it was inevitable.”

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