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Nineteen Years of Bottled Up Words

Posted by on January 30, 2013

Prompt:Time to rant, rave, and foam at the mouth: the piece of mind you would like to give that old so-and-so. This is about anger.

 

Dear you,

I wish I could say that I don’t want to express myself so bluntly and show a little compassion, but let’s be real here, you deserve this. After all these years, you still have no explanation? None? I wish I could go into your brain and find out why you made those decisions. Why you treated her like that, why you treated him like that. And why was I exempt? How come I got the role of messenger boy? You can take a man’s life but you can’t even talk to your wife? I could smack you. Part of me wants to put a hole right through you. But back on track. Remember the time I hit the shoe rack? That rusty old piece of shit? You told me not to worry a bit. But you didn’t handle it. No, that wasn’t your job, why would it be? Since when was it your responsibility? To take care of your kids? Or show him you gave a shit? Nah, he should just get hit. One good fling to the wall and we’d learn it all. It’s sacrilege to interrupt baseball. Isn’t that right? And at one point I thought you were tight. Suppose I was playing make believe. At least I never had to see you leave. Although I prayed for it at night when I thought there was a god who made things right. You were a blight to that light, about prayers and scriptures, all the holy pictures. That’s one thing I learned from you, wait no, that’s two. Miracles don’t happen and liars don’t sadden. But really, I feel bad for you, and all your family too. You all have to alienate with your hate. Because love would show weakness, rather you propose contempt is bliss. Your brother still bullies you every Christmas. He treats you like a tool, a fool, when I treat mine like a jewel. And now he won’t even speak to you, practically hates you, calls you IT, I got away from that shit. She does it too, I know she hates you. All three of you behave like children and I’m supposed to be the youngin? You need to deal with your demons before I listen to your sermons. But now it’s time to end this rhyme.

I’ve forgiven you. But I’ll be damned if I’m not still mad. I just want an explanation with no bullshit. The true reasons of why you couldn’t just talk things out with her. And why showing some emotion to your children was so taboo. Do you know when the last time I heard you say “I love you” was? To anyone? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t. Some day, I would like to respect you and be able to consider you a man, after all I wouldn’t be in school without you. But until I get an explanation and an apology that won’t happen. I’ll take care of you when you need it, the same way you did for me; as detached as I can and without having to do or say anything that might inconvenience me. It will never be my job to fix the bridges you burned.

 

That word you’ll never say,

Matt

One Response to Nineteen Years of Bottled Up Words

  1. Warren Rochelle

    Feel better?