January 21, 2012 - 8:42 a.m.
Missed
Un-misted by love and affection
what I am left with is a well of resentment and anger
anger at myself for allowing you to treat me that way
anger at you, for making me believe that I deserved it and that it was excusable
and now, you feel entitled to something other than a frosty reception
but I snap back, recoiling, when all I see now is
somebody that I used to know
'now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
having me believe that it was always something that i'd done
and I don't want to live that way
reading into every word you say'
all I have left is anger
and I don't even want that.
I want nothing.
To replace any feeling with none. there is no affection left here
and without that
I don't know that I have anything you could want or understand.
you don't seem to remember
how badly you handled everything after our break up
the calling me at 8 am to tear apart and disparage me
to take every weak spot you knew of and jam words into them, looking for the place you could jab so deep that you'd hit my heart,
exploiting the past to excuse it and everything since,
the grabbing me by the arm to talk in bars,
the passive aggressive baiting of people I have known since you've been gone,
the attempts to undercut every step
away from you
and the escalation to insults when you didn't get the reaction you were looking for
and still sometimes you manage to herd me back into the part of my head that responds the way you trained me
to feel apologetic that I have feelings about your actions that are not the ones you want to hear about or take responsibility for.
You have tried, time and again, to overwhelm the defenses you trained to be lazy with regards to you.
Retreats, too late, sleep walking guards
who never saw it coming.
I trusted you
when I should have remained at arms length
spitting distance
from the start.
You don't realize how awful you were to me
because you're better at blocking these things out than I am.
I wish I had your skill.
"I am a good person," was your refrain
but a good person doesn't do this.
It isn't enough to want to be good. Wanting and being are not the same thing.
And like an alcoholic who wrestles their desire and weakness, I have overcome you in stages
Stepping closer each time to staying sober each time a glass is put in front of me
you are a glass that can only look empty,
but you seek to fill yourself
to have all of the past you remember
come rushing into the glass
to tempt me towards the sip that will warm me with memories of times that have since been drained of their happiness
I had a happy time with that asshole.
Not the fond recollection you were looking for.
I don't know how you kept it up for so long.
And we did manage to have so many good times
in spite of you.
I was a different person then.
You found me ruined
and fixed me to be the perfect shape
to hide yourself in
and when I was all better
you went to great lengths to keep yourself inside me
I could not stand
without you
- you would have me believe.
take ownership of what you have broken,
like you took ownership for making me
in the first place.
You still scare me sometimes, when I realize that the lines are still there
the lines crossed
redrawn,
patched and painted over
from every time I shattered
in your hands
I was not safe
but I thought
that I had nowhere else to go
And so often I was pushed to desperation that to protect myself from those feelings I tried to let them go
and pretend I didn't feel them
but they were the first thing that came knocking when the door closed behind you
and now
you still manage to make me feel accountable for how you feel
when I've finally started to own my own life
what were you hoping for?
how can you have forgotten what I can't?
You turn it around and make it about me calling war, waving the wrong colour flag, turning a cold shoulder
when I want this silence, hands empty, weight gone.
you show up, uninvited, expecting the reception of a welcome friend, when you are just a stranger on the street,
the only safe way to pass you
.
you make me feel hostile, and hold yourself aloof of the cause and reason
what could I possibly feel for someone who has denied me the right to feel angry at being physically and emotionally torn up and crushed
cliches that you respond to
by denying them
by holding hands up in the air
claiming
that because there is no blood
there was no crime
there is more than just a subtle imprint there
you prey on the memory of feelings, but you are not getting the reaction you wanted
when, unblocked, the path leads most swiftly
to anger, indignation and a self-possession you can't recognize
if you had ever really wanted anything more than to look yourself in the face without seeing shadows of someone else
you would not blot out the words and blood alcohol, the temper and the fist that put us here
so far away within arms-length
back turned and lights out
anger is more than I wanted to feel
but you don't want me to feel nothing
but numbness
the desired state
is still cold and vulnerable
because caring about something
when it is not you
makes it into a target
and you will hit and take aim
until the frozen animal, caught in your sights, headlight-still, playing dead shudders and dies... or follows you home.
I should have seen you for what you are, but
a hunter myself,
I did not see you coming
you will not accept silence
but you will not like these words. And so you shoot into the air
to stir up game, -
just to hear the sound.
