Uncivil mad Thoughts.

HER

I feel encased in glass...cast in an everlasting fecking mask - buried deep within a coral bed of frowning faces and gritted teeth. Feelings of having a bad day surface...I try my best to don my lovely grinning mask...but it doesn't fit.

Matter of fact - it's not even grinning. So why would it fit. It is sulking, perhaps it senses my mood and wishes to avoid me. Who can blame it.

This is one of those days when I want to scream so loud...when I awake mad at the universe for no reason that I can assign a valid and reasonable reason. Those days when I again question who I am and my reason for fecking being.

Why should I pretend that everything is fine and I didn't wake up just wanting, needing to run and run as if the devil himself chases me...and never stop until I either fall into a great chasm-like void of nothingness...or collapse from sheer exhaustion, somewhere where nobody knows me or care that I exist. I arise shrugging my shoulders...shaking my fist to the universe, yelling...

WHY...for feck's sake...WHY. Feck you.

The universe stares back with disinterest, ...for, unbiased and impartial - it has no stake in my potential, nor will it profit from my situation. It exhibits a certain uninterested, un-curious lack of attentiveness, boredom, ennui and indifference to me...giving blank stares and the silent treatment at the ignorance of my empty banal rant...God doesn't know I exist and the Devil rubs his hands with glee.

"He he he. One more for me God. Checkmate".

Today, I ditch the mask of pretence...see me raw and bare. No make-up to mask the spots and dents which are the true contours of my imperfect face. See the real me, standing here.

Naked and Bare. Mask off. Gloves off...Knives out. Sharpened to maim or kill.

I don't feel like being fecking nice today. Don't even try to tell me to cheer up...everything will be better tomorrow. Will I be able to wear my low cut designer dress(if I owned one)...cause the scars don't make me feel self-conscious and people won't stare and pity me.

Will I be able to stop taking the bloody pills they say I will have to take until the guy with the sickle visits and the undertaker carts me off to go feed the worms.

I used to glide past the moon, dancing upon rocks of fire, reaching for the nebulae of wonders of youthful adventures and reckless enjoyment. In a forever kind of hopeful yearning cocoon...

But all I find these days are clouds of gas and dust located tens of thousands of light years from where I began here on terra firma. The Orion Nebula, the closest proximity to my journey, bid me have a great trip...handing me a mask to hide my face from myself.

Feck you and you and you. Feck the world...feck me...feck everybody. Feck the blasted masks which I am forced to wear to hide the fact that I am mad as a rabid animal and just want to cuss and get it all off my chest.

Fecking hell! The masks are off today. I am not apologizing to NOBODY...

Not anybody...not today.

No more miss-ter nice person/guy/gal/whatever.

Masks are worn to please everybody but myself...but truthfully, sometimes I just want to hide behind a great mask built from walls, where I can sit and forget that other people even exist. Heck, maybe I don't want to exist. Not in a harming of myself kind of way...but maybe in a...

Can I exchange lives with someone with enough money to spend so I won't have to count the pennies, or wonder when all my bills will be cleared off. If I gave a fig about name brand this or that, I would buy a few...but I prefer chic and simplicity in a tasteful my own choice of regular girl kind of way. GIRL..ha ha. Those days are long gone.

What I need is a nice handsome Dracula type to sink his teeth into my neck, Vampiring me...so I can become immune to life and its damnable frailties. Mask begone...I could finally embrace the night, always and forever unmasked in blood.

Just speaking my truths.

OOPS! Has my real mask slipped and my true self laid bare for all to see. Will you all hate me for the horrible selfish creature who I truly am.

I don't give a flying feck. You won't know who I am behind the mask I wear anyway.

Do you?

You do. Oh no. Oh dear!

Still not sorry. Feck!

ME

HER embarrasses me - with behaviors so un-poetic, surreal, and emotionally layered - how to speak of ME and HER, where goodness wears a mask and shadows grin truths.

ME lives in a house made of mirrors. Every surface reflects her kindness:

a smile polished to perfection, hands folded like prayer, words dipped in honey and wrapped in silk.

She walks softly. She apologizes to furniture when she bumps it.

She waters plants that aren’t hers. She writes thank-you notes to silence.

HER lives in the attic. She kicks the walls. She curses the moon.

She eats the fruit ME leaves out and spits the seeds into the floorboards.

ME pretends not to see or hear. She hums louder. She bakes forgiveness into bread. She tells guests, “The creaks are just the wind.”

But HER is not wind.

HER is storm.

HER is the scream ME swallowed when the teacher said, “Smile more.”

HER is the fist ME unclenched when the boss said, “You’re lucky to be here.”

HER is the howl ME buried when the lover said, “You’re too much.”

ME is good.

ME is light.

ME is the kind of person people thank for being so damnable nice.

But sometimes, ME finds HER’s scribbles on the walls:

“Kindness without truth is cruelty.”

“Silence is not peace.”

“You are not a saint. You are scared.”

ME scrubs them clean.

She lights candles.

She recites affirmations.

But one night, ME finds HER crying.

Not raging. Not mocking.

Just crying.

And ME sits beside HER.

Doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t fix.

Just listens.

And in that moment, ME is not good.

She is whole.

Balanced!