Showing posts with label hate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hate. Show all posts

7/26/19

Untitled - Unknown

When you finally forget her,
she’s standing in the kitchen.
She thinks it’s something in the water, and it is.
Her hands stop moving,
coming to a standstill in those rubber gloves
she seems to wear like armor.

And she looks out the window.
And she takes a breath, turns off the water
and goes to sleep.
And in the morning,
she wakes up
and makes you breakfast without a word.
Even when you break the plate.

Because you don’t remember the last time you were sober
and the lines between desperate and despise
start to blur come sunrise,
so you’re never awake to see it.
And it’s her fault, really.
After all these years she still can’t cook the eggs right,
still can’t shut up the baby.
Still can’t cover up bruises quite right
so it’s her fault when the questions come, really.
What were you supposed to do.

For her, it was a quiet affair,
she washed the dishes and made you dinner and
poured whiskey till her hands shook.
And she let you slip away.
Put the baby to bed and just let you slip away.
You’ll never forgive her for that.

But what about the kids.
They all say it, they all knew before either of you did.
But what about the kids, and all the time,
what about all that time,
and wouldn’t it just be better to stick it out.
Just hold on.
Just til Christmas and then we think about the broken glass
and the doors that don’t lock. Just wait til Christmas.

And what was she supposed to do.
Let the devil keep writing messages in the mirror?
Let the kids find out?
Let her traitorous hands burn the place down?
So she just pours you a whiskey.
And she waits til Christmas.

And the kids don’t find out.
And the house stays unburnt.
And she wears her rubber gloves like armor.
Like maybe you can’t touch her
if she’s washing the dishes.

And eventually you forget her.
She takes a breath.
And puts the baby to sleep.

And she lets you.

3/5/18

a wild, fresh wind blowing... - Charles Bukowski


I should not have blamed only my father, but,
he was the first to introduce me to
raw and stupid hatred.
he was really best at it: anything and everything made him
mad—things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly
to the surface
and I seemed to be the main source of his
irritation.
I did not fear him
but his rages made me ill at heart
for he was most of my world then
and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only
my father
for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts
everywhere: my father was only a small part of the
whole, though he was the best at hatred
I was ever to meet.
but others were very good at it too: some of the
foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women
I was to live with,
most of the women, were gifted at
hating—blaming my voice, my actions, my presence
blaming me
for what they, in retrospect, had failed
at.
I was simply the target of their discontent
and in some real sense
they blamed me
for not being able to rouse them
out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was
that I had my troubles too—most of them caused by
simply living with them.
I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even
stupidly happy almost without cause
and left alone I am mostly content.

but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred
that
my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from
them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where—
some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee
is in comparison
like a fresh wild wind blowing.

9/1/16

Grab Ass - C.L. Bledsoe

I wonder if you're dead and buried in a short
coffin, beef-jerky muscles wasted on meth
and misanthropy, daddy's money long spent.

Was the aroma of Ben Gay and rot in the air
while all the ex-footballers cum used car
salesmen wept quietly in their hand-

kerchiefs thinking about the glory days? I wonder
if your cheerleader wife stayed when you lost
your hair. When you got inside her, was there

anything there? Did you even win your blond
medal? What a waste you were. Timmy,
you hated me because I saw through you

to the void where your soul should've been,
and I knew, no matter how fast you ran,
you'd never outpace it. But all I had to do was wait

to get past you. Timmy, I hated you because you ruled
the world from the inside, because you always won
even when you needed to learn how to lose.