I am tired…. tired of shit…. good bad or indifferent shit is still shit. I want to exhale without feeling like it’s being fucking examined. “Is it a frustrated exhale, is it an angry exhale, is it a happy exhale?” Sometimes it is just the act of breathing – nothing more than that.
Oppositely, I am tired…. for tired of shit…. tired of examining every fucking nuance of your actions. I beyond the jealousy, the suspicions but every is a glimpse into your mind and your psychy. Where I have been compared to where I am is night and day. I know I am a worrier of historic proportions but I am confident that my energy spent worrying is at least pointed in the correct direction. Above that my passion is there too.
But, as you play me like a puppet on a string I don’t know where to take it – this passion. Even in the good times it begins to feel like shit as you ignore the uncomfortable but embrace the immaterial and the inane. I am me, I am who I am – warts and all. It’s worth knowing, and more importantly
It is worth fighting for love.
In venom and rage I cannot match you. You have the entire market cornered. Admittedly I gave you the recipe but you absolutely perfected it. I sit there and take the medicine that I have earned, simultaneously withering and smoldering inside.
Surrounded by shit… good bad… and indifferent… they are all shit, just bound up with different ribbons and bows and maybe given a pretty name bit in the end shit is shit no matter how you dress it up. Doesn’t have to be this way, just choose to make it different. It’s easy. 🙂