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[catwat3r]

from June 5th, 2024 6:42 am

it’s between me and the girls oh honey i want to hurl i’m sitting round here all night wondering what do you want me for?

half truths and trickle proofs ronald reagonomics: your trusted despot mentor your radical confession booth filled wall to wall with bones and soot with these dusty hands i touched you and i was tender

all you had to do was not do what you know won’t fix the grave you dig do you feel better after what you did? there’s blood on your face and you’re covered in dirt look at this mess you made, what you got us into

crocodile man i know what you do with your tears your own teeth bleed the wound and tip your scales when i found you in the water what was first clear? i was the whore you’d swallow whole or the woman you’d chew on after you shot her

when satisfaction isn’t mine i suppose i know i’ve done my time i beg your pain and recognition why me and no one else? to bear the weight, to be your shelf what’s a liar even worth in a deposition?

if love is a choice; a yes or no option you were handed a true false and still came up short you’re a new man, you say you chose me then why am i afraid of the decision you’re making

granted a lifetime of retribution out on parole from your institution i’m high on good behavior the angels, the stars the way things are there’s nothing left to be your savior

[catwat3r]

it's all on me

from november 23, 2023

i get home and i know it’s time to break down because i’m home and i don’t have to hold it together anymore. my life is a series of moments demanding i hold it together. i’m exceptionally good at sucking it up, keeping it in, holding it together. my therapist was not pleased when i shared this accomplishment.

my bag is packed on the ground, waiting. wondering. charged with anticipation of a trip it will not go on. i didn’t even think about what it would feel like to unpack the things i’d so hastily thrown together that morning, the dust disturbed without me knowing it was still settling.

i have to pee and something feels so fucking stupid about it, like i shouldn’t need to. i’m forced to carry this sack of blood and guts and gore and for what? all it does is cry and whine and distract and now i’m exceedingly aware of my stomach while my dad is getting more fentanyl in his iv. in the stress and flurry i barely ate today and the thought still follows me. in the back of my mind she relished in it all day. the convenience of my misfortune aligning with her goals. of course she has to follow me, even now.

this morning on the way to the hospital i didn’t know what to listen to. like after the divorce announcement, it felt wrong to put on something sad, to affirm my emotions. what good would that do? but now i’m alone and i don’t need to hold it together and i’ve given in to the desire to sit alone in my thoughts and wallow and cry and

it feels so performative, the fact i need music or something to make the process easier because i am not normal and i am not connected to myself. i am performing my emotions, never truly feeling them. i can’t, and i won’t. sometimes i wonder what it’s like, to feel and to not dissect, or mutilate. to be laid bare and not reach for the laughter or the anger, or assigning them to things outside myself. i am human. my dad is human, today the universe almost decided he isn’t. and i am so grateful and glad and thankful and happy he is, and he will be. but i cannot cry, not in the way i need to. i don’t know if i want to at this point, but it’s been something to cross off my to-do list lately.

i’ve been on the verge of tears all day. on the verge of tears for weeks for a reason i cannot put my finger on. and yet with the perfect excuse, the reason no one would fault me for, i muster a pitiful stream and turn to my words yet again.

is it because he’s alive and breathing and i spoke to him and i know he’ll be fine? or is it because i am the only one responsible, and my brain knows i need to be at my best to make it through to the end? i know i love him and i know i care so why can’t i just cry? no one would know unless i wanted them to, no one needs to. but even with the comfort of knowing i am my own confidant, that i can keep the secret of what i hold inside, i cannot cry— not the way i want to.

at least with the divorce, i hid as long as i could until the sobs hit and wracked my body until my ribs were sore and i didn’t eat for twenty four hours and i didn’t even have to try (don’t look at me like that). when will i truly, fully break? when will i decide it’s okay, it’s safe to do so? is it, anymore?

i am hungry and i am tired and i am angry and i am sad and i am desolate and i am defeated and i am empty and under it all i’m numb and i’m overwhelmed. i don’t need to hold it together, i know i don’t. but then who will hold me together in my time of need, put me back together?

i don’t really want that though, i’d deny anyone who tried. i always do, it’s easy. the comfort of being your own confidant. the ease of writing it out, and washing my hands of it. a weight i will never have to lift again. this is only the beginning, i’m not done yet. i know i have too much ahead of me, because everyone keeps asking what they can do to help. when the sun rises and i must return to my duties where i will return to myself, held together and tightly bound. i will know what i did, and what i didn’t do.