Good shit, is still shit

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. 🙂


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