I catch myself getting progressively more angry.
I safely yell at things that don't give 1 iota of emotion in response.
I watch myself getting mad at TV's, cars, computers, even light bulbs!
Most days I am able to 'hang tough' primarily through my own strength,
but partly because it is expected of me.
I've never asked to be anyone's hero
and I certainly know first hand
what a fraud I would be
to ever claim such status when so how many times,
far more than I will ever let on,
I have found myself curled up in the fetal position SCREAMING guttural SCREAMS primal.
I no longer ask the glib question of "Why me?",
when I know the true question is
why not me??
Once I had led a life of figuratively being spoon fed from utensils made of silver,
thriving on that bliss that does indeed come from an existence of ignorance.
Maybe why not me
balances the scales.
Sept. 26 2013 will be the 5 year anniversary that my sweet little boy seemingly fell off the face of the planet.
It hurts so bad I could just scream. SCREAM!

And I do.
At technology.
I scream at my TV with it's crackly surround sound speakers that are going out,
I scream at my car when strange warning icons flash on the dashboard,
I scream when the florescent light bulbs through out my house flicker
and burn out
and S C R E A M E D !!!!! at my computer when in the middle of typing this diatribe
the browser crashes

It got dark early that evening,
as it always does when winter is in full swing
and
the day's sun never quite
manages to ease the chill.  
Moods were equally brisk inside and stung about as sharply as the winds shrieking through the windows.  
My boyfriend
and
I
had been cooped up inside for the last few days.  
The walls
were
closing in,
suffocating us.
Tempers were flaring often that winter,
and
our nerves were especially raw that day.  
He had been in my face
barking orders from the moment he woke up.  
I tried to bite my tongue but my tongue would often betray me.

     "Hey, you gonna go get me some cigarettes?"  
I knew by the tone of his voice, it wasn't really a question.
     "No, I don't have time yet,"
I replied.
     He'd spent the whole day in the recliner wearing the same ***** t-shirt, boxer underwear
and
smelly socks as
he had on when it had started snowing days ago.  
He hadn't gone out job hunter for the last couple of weeks.
My      life      had      become      relegated      to      cleaning      up      after      him.  
It wouldn't have been so bad
if I hadn't moved so far out
into the country,

relying on a drunk

for my sole source of companionship.


He sat in his chair chain smoking cigarettes,
watching me as I folded the laundry,
gulping down one beer after
another,
loudly crushing each can that he emptied.  
     Bite my tongue, bite my tongue, I reminded myself.  
I continued folding jeans.  
It kept me from glaring at him,
seething with gritted teeth.  
I dont think I could have hated anyone more at that moment.
     "Come on, ******!"  
Go get me some cigarettes,
he bellowed.

     Something snapped.  
I threw the basket of jeans at him.  
They scattered across the room.  
I came toward
him.  
I balled up my hands.
     "What the hell is wrong with you?  Don't start with me!  I don't want to hear it,
he yelled.
     His words had no effect on me.
He cowered his head with his arms,
lowering them towards his lap.  
My fists
were clinched,
aiming anywhere on his body.  
Faster and faster.  
He made the mistake of looking up.  
I felt the
punch hit his right cheekbone.  
His backhanded slap landed on my right ear.  
After that, all sound was gone,
replaced with a ringing silence.  
I couldn't hear what was coming out of his moving lips,
nor out of my own.
     "I am sick of this!  I am sick of this!"
I roared.  
     "I can't live like this anymore.  
     I am sick of you mooching off of
     me!"
     In one swift motion,
he had managed to pull himself up
and
knock me down off of my feet.
     I don't know why I scrambled on hands
and
knees over to the car keys on the coffee table,
but instantly,
they
became priceless treasure.  

The all day beer binge caused him to swagger,
and he landed on top of me.  
He tried to pry the keys out of my grip,
knocking the coffee table over,     spilling cigarette butts
     and
     the pile of folded
             whites.

conceived to the rhythms of Woodstock
          weaned on Watergate
                    raised on Trickle-Down Reaganomics
                              our adolescence taught us contempt for a government
          but our education kept us too ignorant to reach past the disillusionment
                   aging under a system of
                               corruption and greed
                    dying penniless
unto our birthright
as the
empty generation

if I am not me, who have I become
why did I leave and where did I run

if I try to explain the **** of my pain
will I merely forget all the lessons engrained

if I cry me a river or get carried away
is false nirvana just another debt left unpaid

if there's no trust to remain yet lack ***** to go
will phoniness reign misty fog of retreat looming low

if this life isn't mine and I'm only acting a role
who belongs to this body and who owns my true soul

if I keep longing for answers until they surface just near
will it empty the well that stings my face with the tears

if I go back and re do the steps I've been through
will it give me back confidence I believed I once knew

if this life isn't mine and I've misplaced tracks of time
just who sits in my thoughts desperately composing this rhyme?

The sun must rise
as the ones deep
in sleep
Slowly feel their hearts
rising in its beats
a new day
another dawn
slowly I rise
coffee greeting
cig in hand
head foggy
of half fading dreams
and automatic
morning routines
Primitive are we
as primitive
as the ball we stand
Circling around
the great fire

I spend my time scribbling lines
trying to set my soul free
the only prison
I've ever known
is the one in my mind
which I've overblown
my life isn't so bad
that I can't tolerate
but the dissatisfaction
is what I truly hate

some times
**** isnt supposed to happen,
no one should **** a 17 yr old boy
who never got the chance to live his life.
i used to tell my kids that they were like jello and
werent fully set until they turned 18 and
that the child and i both had joint title to themselves and
once they turned 18
i took my name off and
they were fully responsible for themselves.
Colton would have turned 18,
3 weeks before his life was STOLEN from him and
from me and
from every one who loved him
AND THERE WAS NO REASON FOR THAT.