When it rains, it pours, and opens doors.

But you know that when the truth is told
that you can get what you want
or you can just get old.

so many poems tell you that you have to fill
the first few lines with a lot of ******* imagery
to fill the stanzas before you hit one or two lines
that actually mean something: and by that heroic
couplet, or whatever the english teachers say these days,
the whole ******* poem is redeemed.
I don't think I should have to write sixteen stanzas
for the sake of the last line, but here I am
so I might as well elaborate a bit on the rooftops
and the moonlight on her hair and the fact
that I cannot love her as I wish I could and
I never dreamed of Paris like other women always expected me to
the smell of baking bread and the Eucharist
hurts my knees and heals my soul, thank God
for God, but it seems unfortunate that we as people can't just
ignore the existence of our Creator. Something calls us back
something hurts us in desperate moments when we've
written sixteen hundred stanzas and none of them meant anything
and we're afraid to show our faces to a priest or our mother
when I drifted away from certain shores I thought
I wanted to inhabit forever, the cross I clung to
led me through sunny and tumultuous waves
I always did like being on the water. I always did
like salt and water and earth and wine and I am
a child of the Church- my Church that tells me
there's nothing wrong with being tender
nothing wrong with having a soft heart-
you see, our God's heart bled out
and He never concealed His tears.

I'm done with all of the angst,
I'm done hiding in dark corners
Sitting in a brew of unhappiness, simmering
I'm through with poems about being dead
Poems about the past, which is but a bump
In my bright future
I'm done having a boyfriend who I don't love
Who I tried to love, but once again, forced
I'm done feeling sick around certain people
(Even though I can't change the way my body responds)
I can't stand half the songs on my phone anymore
Because they force memories to the surface
And why the hell do I want to feel that?
I'm done being dark and twisty,
Done saying negative comments about my life
Done with cigarettes and done with substances
Created to make me feel happy,
When all they do is make me feel helplessly small
I'm done, I'm done, I'm done

“Some stupid people started the idea that because women obviously back up their own people through everything, therefore women are blind and do not see anything. They can hardly have known any women. The same women who are ready to defend their men through thick and thin are (in their personal ******* with the man) almost morbidly lucid about the thinness of his excuses or the thickness of his head. A man's friend likes him but leaves him as he is: his wife loves him and is always trying to turn him into somebody else. Women who are utter mystics in their creed are utter cynics in their criticism. Thackeray expressed this well when he made Pendennis' mother, who worshipped her son as a god, yet assume that he would go wrong as a man. She underrated his virtue, though she overrated his value. The devotee is entirely free to criticise; the fanatic can safely be a sceptic. Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind.”

...go on, twist the knife.

We laugh at evil characters in literature
And wonder why antagonists matter...
But do we ever laugh at our evil characters?
Do we wonder why the antagonists in our lives matter?