I am having a hard enough time trying to smile.

We are in the way wherever we go.
This is unChristmas. It is my sister's 47th birthday, and I need to hear the indifference not filtered through my recently abandoned friend.
Since she hates most every single thing at this moment anyway.

So in the end it became almost fine and both rabidly depressed mothers read the poem for their children and woke up with their children only on Christmas morning.
Then one man diminished her and Brok rejected me with lies.

All the things I wish I could say:

If you insist on talking to me without words, don't be surprised when I hear you wrong.

Just because everyone in the world walks around with rhinoceros skin it doesn't mean that's the way to walk around.

I will let my anger. I will accept appropriate responsibility.

If I was maniacal for ten ridiculous minutes, I'm just as sad now. This goes on for HOURS, even DAYS.

It passes by and I still laugh inside of it, not often perhaps, but still.

And I need to write. So all is not lost.

Gimme Hootie, Gimme Desree, gimme a fuckin BReaK.

"Brok" : 42, black, fat, bass, pool, etc.

My friend who should know says he is a sleazebag and will probably down the road have the satisfaction of saying, "Told ya so."

But first: appears to value INTELLIGENCE in a woman and recognizes it in me - and kisses for days at a time how I like it.

There's more both written and not - there's hours and hours left for serious thought -

I do that on the freeway between songs and fantasies and hawks and a sky that rarely fails to amaze me.

The ink rolls on the paper sign of an empty mind. I have visions and NEED a computer with shitloads of memory, all the programs I've learned AND:

CD ROM: SCANNER: COLOR PRINTER.

Ah, but first: A JOB. This thing should be about 1 1/2 months away.

Night goes on and Pollyanna sits here embroidering her sister's Christmas present and feeling adrift, distrustful of HER OWN feelings.

What are they?

What are his?

Is there in fact a goddam thing here?

As I leaned against him and he played nudist mortal combat,

was that cozy and goodness fake? When he hugged me tight and spoke of parallels, was there an offer in those words?

Or just in my lonely ears?

To be 40 and so wanting, there is the rub, because that wish can cause me to hear things wrong, even misread my own feelings.

It seems unfair that what was true when I was a shy, fatherless adolescent should still be the rule.

I should most certainly be more secure within myself.

After all, I've survived this long when the world urged me to die. I nurtured hope and insisted upon the future. I learned; accomplished; got this far and

THAT WAS WITHOUT HIM OR ANY MAN AT ALL

except my ex-husband who kicked me when I was down and behaved like a fucking thief at a traffic accident shaking down the corpse.

of course.

And brothers who love me. Sons who love me in spite of my failure. They will live to see me redeem their faith and trust: I will not be the waster of their love.

Why then all my life did it seem - I wasted my own? When - and even still I'll say that - I didn't try for a waste, I Loved truly but not very wisely.

When it would have been wise - no not a lot of opportunity! - at any rate the love did not follow.

It stayed put. Nearly nineteen years, I can ONLY guess, as my own feelings were not revealed to me for so long - it stayed there, with that one, one man, that Unnamed!- that major man, even now, I can only surmise -

Do I throw him up as a shield, so Brok- nor any other man I could maybe care about - can't hurt me?

Or is the love for him so deep and true it will prevent me from ever fulfilling a love relationship again in this life, no matter how right it could (maybe) be?

I did just name that paradox: that fucking riddle of myself - and let us not forget that Brok hated the sight of me on Christmas about an hour after he adored the sight of me.

Why should he be off the hook? Personal problems, historical hurts, are not only MY domain.

Exactly. So just sit here and wait on tomorrow. Know I'll be strong for it, I won't crumble. Good God if I WAS going to do that it would have been before I was 1 1/2 months to a Professional certificate and a REAL opportunity to better myself and earn back my babies.

Shit don't start that pain. Don't gnaw at that sore. Don't think about the little daily death this estrangement has meant. Don't keep thinking about petty revenge, like slashed tires (over and over and over and over) or all the other petty mischievous ways that won't really change the past or fix the reality that I am in someone else's house with a mere fraction of the children I should be raising DAILY.

That pain is physical - my heart hurts.

Tears that will ream the ocean well inside of me and the primal scream is: ANDY!

BEKAH!

Let it lie.

Cry.

Weep woman weep

awake or asleep -

Clutch at a pillow that isn't a child

Scream, sob, let yourself be

WILD------------

Your babies were taken, taken, taken

By a man who sleeps just fine -

Your motherhood is DEVASTATED -

where's respect? gratitude? recognition?

Where's your daughter? Where's your son?

is this ALL your fault?

If so, just when did you go WRONG?

When you left the man who made your life hell?

When you left the job that was keeping you poor?

When you trusted the man who said you'd be rewarded?

When he rewarded you with a big fat kick in the ass?

When you took shelter in the desert?

When you chose not to search for minimum wage but aim for something better?

When you respected your pre-adolescent son's desire to stay near the friends he does not make so easily?

When you wasted money trying to keep up an address that would serve that end?

When you (again!?) trusted that FUCK you once married (and even loved!) to be honest - ?!

That must be it. Fucker has lied to me always - his father lied to me before that - so of course it IS MY FAULT and therefore I should go from here, resolve it will NOT happen again, distrust him, let my bitter buddy guide my feelings and actions as she is the WISE one, letting bitterness engulf her and closing herself off from over getting to a point that close to the FIRE.

the FIRE:

You get burned when:

You love him, but he does not love you

You get burned WORSE when:

He said he loved you and you believed it.

You're burned THRICE when:

He never says sorry, he lies at you, uses you to fuck when he knows you ooze love with every sigh, says by looks and actions that you are SHIT and

You still love him.

Ah that sadness! that ache and longing, those great expectations thrown back at you with the force of a tornado-blown rooftop - and you reel and reel while heartbreak and self-hatred unite within you because if you ARE worthy and lovable, WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE YOU?

It's a common saying that "Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned." And it's true. I believe people need to think quite hard on that, read it as it is written: the operative word is SCORNED. That means he stomps on your love and laughs while he's at it, trots off with your best friend or someone much younger, treats you as less than human.

Does such treatment not merit fury?

Perhaps the only thing more furious than the woman above is the man in the same spot - they kill those women more than the other way around.

I think they're back and I need to be sleeping. Can I? Philosophy class dismissed.

In this cold morning artistic vision, mourning, celebration, plenty of questions sit by me. Brok here and gone with Lola though apparently not how he's with me. I had to ask to be hugged and was, warmly, and kissed, chastely but firm so I DON'T, DON'T KNOW -

He left and that was that. Maybe I will see him next year.

Maybe - no this is a PROBABLY if not just the plain truth - I ought to just file Brok - just repack these feelings and stow them away for a different day, a different man, a different life.

bales law.

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