Poetry / Bitter - a scattered rant about other people's happiness

Bitter is the color that I stain my lips with. A filter for my every word of love. I never thought birthday wishes had a shelf life. Misery, company in a wish and over cake. There must be more than this. Twenty three with a crone disposition. My heart moved from red to black to read perhaps back? Back when I fell out of myself. here it is, the distance, it’s as obvious as the atlantic ocean or the california horizon. how did we move past this? it is really possible for him to have someone new and a chance at life. ruin my image of you. bring me the shocking realization of my sarcasm. I must be lonely. I must be jealous. I must be revealing in the worst parts of myself. floating in the ocean of self loathing and all the tears I cried and wouldn’t let dry. SO it’s been two years. Two years. I am okay with two years. I suppose everyone has a future independent of what I want them to be. Even if it’s static for my comfort. So I’ll be a spinster with hopes of a life without strings. My dreams lie on the horizon, chasing the sunset till I find my tail and catch myself in the ass. Catch myself as the ass. Such a perfect ass. This is how I find myself. Shocked as I loathe someone else’s happiness and hope, just because it isn’t mine.
Surprisingly, I don’t mind being this horrible. I can get past this with silence the hand that strokes me every night. Fat, golden, and pregnant with deceit, secrets, and honesty.
Give me the distance of being on the horizon. Having the sun at my back with clocks chasing me forward. All we need is time and a continent to reconnect with or perhaps disappear into.
I always seem to be parallel to myself. traveling in a vertical line, some direction that is a semantic shift.
welcome to the mirror. to breathing through your thoughts and finding all the sugar is gone from that razor blade.
now we have the hammer of reality we hope to have those hopes crushed. because I don’t have it and that’s threatening. I’m not needed, and that’s threatening. I’m not wanted, and that’s threatening. I was never wanted, and that’s threatening.
I am bitter. I am resentful. I am anything except surprised.
Fear and nervousness taste like a quiet wind. Cold and sharp telling you snow is near, because the wind,she is winter tailing about her wedding dress, the layers she’ll hide under, and the train that’ll follow.
Nervousness, it’s milky and crisp, if milk froze like snow. They’re white and opage. They’re more than black and dark, they’re every color combined. Fear is something of a prism, deconstruction the rainbow.
all i can see now is that jesus loves me. shock and awe at this disaster. i’m not even christian and christmas is coming. like every year. it’s coming. like every year this happens. life moves on…

i don’t know i find this so abjectly distrubing

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