rage

ive figured something out. ive figured that i only use perhaps 3% brain capacity when interacting with others. or myself. or day to day life. there is so much more just skimming the surface. its like i have a brain degenerating disease that has taken over my mind, locked it in a little box.

click.

everything is right there, straining against the lock to get out. my hopes, my fears, the words i really want to say, to write, but wont. where does the anger come from? is it locked in my brain along with the alphabet i learned when i was 5? is it sitting next to the abilities shelf, shoved up against my knowing how to tie a shoe or make a bed with no wrinkles? perhaps its closer to the window ledge that holds memories. that would make more sense. i suppose you cant get angry if you dont remember why you are angry. will the lock break under the strain if there is too much in there? seemingly, it seeps out slowly, giving me bitch status at all the right moments. how can others know where the key is, and let it all out? open the damn window. i need it out. let me spew forth my venom obliterating, if just for a moment, the facade you have come to know and love. why can you tell me whats wrong with you, but i cant tell you whats wrong with me? why can you tell me whats wrong with me, but i cant do the same?

perfect moments come out clearly enough. sitting in inky blackness, my ankles itching every now and then. i try to see how long i can go without scratching that itch. not very long.. i dont have the fortitude to endure very much pain. the inky sky is punctuated with little pinpoints of light, bigger than all of us put together, and we focus on something else, entirely man-made, reminding of us to love one another, when we can't even love whats so beautiful around us. the wind is softly playing with my hair, more sensual than a lover, because i actually let myself feel. its taking that little curl that i hate so much and try to straighten, and teases my eyelashes. keeping at a safe distance , so at just the right moment, when i go to swat it away, it moves effortlessly away from me, mocking me. i know it will happen again. when the wind died, and the lights came on, that perfect moment was sucked back in through the little crack .. put on the ledge to remember for another day.

punctuated anger is now back with a vengeance-i hate the scratching on the door.. i hate that you wont help me. i hate that i have 16 days to do all im supposed to do, and do properly, and expected to do more. i cant give more. leave me alone. i want to drink out of the hose, and not come back in the house until the street lights come on. i want to scream and have everyone listen that im not going home. take a rock and break that window and have everything dark and ugly ooze over the ledge..and just run back to where i feel the wind, maybe this time ill let it play with my hair without getting anxious. maybe im safer in the dark, with my eyelashes being tickled and my ankles itching..

click.