New poem

[carose59]

Fifty-four years old. I want to play in the backyard.


Nobody asks if you want to be the grown-up.

All of a sudden, you're responsible for everything, and how did that happen?
Not only for yourself, which is bad enough, but for other people, and cats, and why?

And when you get sick, you think about dying, and
what will happen if you do,
because look at all the balls you're juggling!


Or just picking up off the floor
where
you
keep
dropping
them,
trying
to
squeeze them
here and there,
one under your arm,
one under your chin—

Let me tell you, they aren't going to bury those balls with you when you die. Somebody else
is going to have to juggle them, and who might that be?

And where are they now, when you're feverish and crying?


And everything you do is wrong.

Even when it's right,
it's wrong
because the next thing will be wrong, so the right thing you did doesn't count.
The right things never count, only the wrong ones.
And sometimes you just want to sit in the car and read so you don't have to go in the house
even though there's nobody in the house.

You have to make decisions,
and they're wrong, too.
And what the hell are you going to have for dinner?

You had nothing for breakfast, and
peanut butter cups for lunch,
so maybe Pop-tarts. A hot meal would be good.

Because whatever food you buy has something in it that's going to kill you
(and it will be your own fault you're dead)
and there's nobody to cook for you—there's nobody to do anything for you, except the cat:
he purrs for you,
and it's a comfort,
but it's no help.

And if only you were getting some of it right, it might seem bearable,
but you aren't,
not any of it,
purchases have to go back to the store,
and your credit card's probably overdue,
and you got a disconnect notice for your gas, even though there's money to pay it.

But that's another failure.
Because the gas company's right down the street,
you should walk there,
you have walked there,
only you're so tired, how can you walk anywhere?

And driving's an admission of failure.

So the easiest thing is just not to pay the gas bill until they threaten to shut it off.

And everything's like that.
Don't look at the credit card bill, it's just going to tell you things you don't want to know.

And it's finally spring,
you're supposed to be better,
why aren't you better?
Have you always been this big a mess?


There's no-one to ask, but at least the cat purrs.


Posted simultaneously on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth