Calling the Kettle Black

Upon opening your eyes,

you seek out excuses to spew out your indifference.

Always something to mark the day with your gloom and unmet needs.

You have your finger on the master Control button.

Everything that is yours is cleverly disguised as ours, all of your plans are distorted to seems like our future.

When you’re in the mood,

frantic kisses and prolonged embraces profess your love for me, but mine has limits.

When your feverish with temper,

I linger in the background to watch the spectacle and wait for a break in the flow of

vexation.

If I am in misery,

it’s not only because of the endless drama that will go on until you reach an I-don’t-care mode.

You are so talented at building skyscrapers from molehills. Each brick heavy with words that cannot be returned,

cemented by the slamming of doors.

I am the problem?

I have the selfishness to look to you to unload my aches and pains on.

I walk around in a perpetual frown to draw the attentions of others.

For the payment of their sympathy,

I will show them my hellish life.

I’m never satisfied and you’re virgin white?

Someone give me a mirror, so I can show you the black.

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About ingridfalconi

I'm a married mother of three and a published author.
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