My eyes rolled and my shoulders drooped as I read his pathetic reply to my subtle plea for a listener;
"What do you mean?"
I hate you for asking this question.
I tried to keep it simple but you want to
Know what I
Mean.
I am absolutely seething. I am
Vehemently caustic.
Borderline livid.
Maybe not livid, but I'm damn sure
Enraged.
Antagonistic.
Significantly exasperated.
Done.
But I reply;
"Nothing."
Short and cold as my impassive facade.
Screw the world and all who inhabit it.
Black timbs and black hoodies are my only friends.
Like Biggie.
They understand the my frustration
And isolation
In this world of colorful clowns
And redundant laughter.
Turbulent and ticked off.
Peeved and petulant.
Bruised and bristled.
I hate people.
Teen angst is the cliche explanation
For these feelings.
And maybe that is to blame.
But rational thoughts are the
last thing
on my dome right now.
Brain, please don't bother me,
I've had I long day.
Peace, please don't come to me yet. I'm not finished penning my
Acrid disposition, my
Apoplectic attitude, my
Intense irascibility.
My bitter chagrin.
I cannot help but dwell in my anger.
I hate that the decisions of others can affect me so harshly.
I think I'm done with
whatever this was.
A vent, or an air duct,
Whatever this was.
There are only so many ways to say you are pissed the f*** off
Before you have simmered down
And can think clearly.
Before you can lay down and grab the sheets with the capable, brown hands of an island princess
And lay your head down
On your pink, flowered pillow
Without drowning in the poison
That is anger.