I’m in a wedge of a crack of a hole.
Life pressing in every direction; I’m questioning my soul.
Yet you feel it necessary to unburden your fold
or YOU will be confined?
Let me tell you something Joan of Arc on crack du jour
You’re already headed out the door
leading deeper into your psychosis.
You angle every play to defeat my spirit
to make me bitter to my sinew.
I defy you! I’m not like you.
I’ve never worshipped you and hated you the way you do with me.
The rage I feel for all these years I must suppress for father’s sake
but heartless sister, my affection is all spent.
I wish I could display this poem as words on paper
to shove down your throat so you can choke on the
significance of your torture.
I can’t believe I loved you.
Wasted years on caring about you.
It’s too hard. I’m defeated.
You win, nut job, you have no sister.
I wrote this last night. So today, I’m looking at it thinking post it or delete it. I want to make it all go away. For me, rage lasts in moments. It’s not sustainable. But when it hits me, it hits me hard.