i wish i could take the bottle out of your hands before you drink it
maybe then you’d care about
how i feel
how i hurt
how i get treated
by them
by you
when i do what you’ve asked and try my best to do everything right and i get scorn and sarcasm in return
how do you not understand?
how do you not see?
how every mocking word impacts me
and absolutely shuts me down
i am tired
i am tired of going unnoticed while i boil higher and higher until i blow up and then i am in the wrong when i do
but if you’d only pay attention and listen to me a fraction of the way i do to you
maybe you’d see it really isn’t out of nowhere
maybe you’d see every little scratch and slice that led to the open wound on my chest
maybe you’d just ******* see me
instead of the bottom of a margarita
because margaritas have been ruined for me
the nickname too
“margs”
my god i wish i could bury that word in the bottom of the ocean and never hear it again
because my love, my angel, turns into a cruel ******* after one too many “margs”
and i hate them for it
and i hate the one who showed you them
and i even hate the ******* inventor of a margarita because they ******* ruin my favorite person in the entire cosmos
and so they ruin me
or at the very least they make me small
i am a gnat buzzing in her ear because of margaritas
i am scratchy brush underfoot
i am irritating but only just enough to not be invisible and hopelessly irrelevant
i am hurting
i am furious
i am hopeless
i am frustrated
i am trying
i am tired
i am all of these things and yet
i can’t compete with
tequila and juice and salt
and maybe that’s the most frustrating thing of all
you are my moon and stars and sunshine and earth and air and life
and i fall somewhere between rock bottom and a margarita on the rocks