i am mad at you.
and worse,
it is an anger unfulfilled
for i know not the reason
of my distress.

all i know
is i am mad.

perhaps,
more than anything
it is the fear of being taken for granted.

everything is smooth running with you,
consistent, operational.
so functioning you are with
your everything just so for the
exact right moments,
and i, so frazzled, so frantic
so immediate spontaneous
i cannot catch my breath.

you always know what you want
before the inevitability of its reception.
you frustrate me so...

there is much to be said about
the pedastal on which tension is kept,
so that we can cross our tally marks
and stay on the verge of 'almost'
without ever falling too far.

and it's that last bit
that kills me.

you just assume i'll always pine
always need your verification
and pride,
and the truth is far more ugly

because not only do i need it,
but i desire it. survive on it.

a good fuck
would be mediocre
if it weren't for the expression on your face
when you found out.

but i am not yours,
not yours to worry for
or worry after,

and it's a detriment as much a blessing
knowing that it's in my power to hurt you
in a way you'd never say out loud.

but i am mad at you,
because i want to hear it.
because i hate it.

and i want you
to stop being the founder
for all of my comparisons,
and the limitations that i perform
are based on the judgements you would make.

and so every version
of myself that i have come to know
is somehow molded to be your
'acceptable'. and i am mad.

03/21/2007

Posted on 03/22/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer