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By Misti Date: 2003 Sep 26 Comment on this Work [[2003.09.26.14.09.20954]] |
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I did not apply for jobs today. I did not show my fake smiling made-up face and carefully straightened hair to the society I despise. I stayed in bed and rested my sore cried out eyes and dreamed nightmares. You had a secret life and I found out about it. You were crazy in love with a real woman. A woman who could hold down a job and throw a good party. She had a mediocre, forgettable face but her hair was long and the color of banana taffy and her tits were big and all the men in the swimming pool wanted to fuck her. You fucked her. She was bisexual and her lover was also appealing to the masses. And to you. You had them both. There was always loud music playing. Incredible energy. And suddenly I understood why it was them and not me. You think it's weird how I never listen to my cds. I only listen to my mix tapes in the car. I like silence and that freaks you out. I am sick with melancholy and no hot-blooded American male wants to deal with that shit. In the dream you were so happy you did not concern yourself with my sorrow or bitterness or burning envy. I was no longer a welcome presence in your life or even your bed. And you had a son named Dylan. I had married you thinking I was the only woman you had ever loved so fiercely and blindly but this was a lie. You had loved her all along and the son you hid from me. I am awake now and I do not know where to begin. I do not want to talk to the doctor or his sweet Southern receptionist. I do not want a new antidepressant. I want alcohol and heroin and Alaska and an unlisted phone number and no internet access. I don't want to be counted in the census. I don't want to talk to women who ask me what my husband is like and how many children I have and if I have seen "The Banger Sisters." I do not want a normal cog in the wheel life. I want to be free to wallow in my misery and scream FUCK YOU ALL into the canyon and not stick around for the echo. I do not want to improve or try or strive. The world has not invited me to its banquet. I will go hungry. I will not beg for crumbs. |