I arrived at the café in a raging mood, everything felt wrong, angered me, made me feel misunderstood. Fluctuations in mood today carried on from yesterday, I was filled with upsets, overwhelmed with dismay.
I sniped, I snarked, I complained, I felt bitter, could nothing go right, this is terrible, will it improve? I wondered. I’ve not had days like these in months, everything has been somewhat right, an improvement upon the next, regeneration throughout the night.
Yet today I am in a rage, better watch whom I address upon my page, is there publish-worthy material I’d like to save? Quite possibly not, I’d rather go into a mental haze where I can zone out and forget every spiky emotion that I can feel, some will say stop complaining, and just deal.
I must move on, my tongue, dull and tired, can no longer remain clipped. I must move forth, in realising I am deserving of much more. I must step forward, understanding that I am worthy, I am priceless, I must go on, because I am strong, I am wise, and I must exercise this intelligence.
For many hours, I sat here bubbling and brewing, angrily explaining how I have been made to feel. For many a-time I have expounded over and over exactly how actions or inaction cause me to believe negative things about myself, that my presence is merely humoured, and I cannot help but feel insulted, when something apparently more interesting came along – there goes the desire for this contemplative yet fiery poet.
But I must understand there is little point in chasing after Disinterest, little point in tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly, why, that would be remiss, because why humour that character, why allow him my attentiveness, in doing so, this will mentally continue to take me down, and I cannot have that, I must retain my level of sparkling self-confidence, my golden shining crown.
I think it’s odd how easily I’ve been cast aside, how love could be expressed in this loveless kind of way, but in another way, I am rather happy I’ve discovered this so early, how easily I can be replaced, although the other will scream I’m not being replaced, that they are simply occupying themselves, keeping themselves entertained.
I’m like a brightly blazing deciduous tree except I will not weep for
you. Because while my colours alternate from light greens to crisp fawns and
crunchy dryness as the seasons go from bright to dark, days longer to short, at
this moment I’m far less tolerant, adaptive I am not.
Release not the inner emotions, the angst which we both feel. The grinding of stone upon pavement, the scratchy itching frustration I feel. The knowledge that I am absorbing a melody that I do not wish to be performed through me, and the strangeness and wearing down of my barely-present tolerance is surprisingly unyielding. I feel rather affected, and most certainly quite ill at ease.
I’d much rather be alone in these moments, and cast off my unwanted and
unfeeling leaves in silence. They are not necessary. And neither is this irritation
which is featuring heavily in this ongoing dramatic story.
There’s a brief pause now, an interlude, to allow anger and the stifling feeling of unrest to build into an explosive level of intent and mistrust. Because, neither of us seems to want to admit wrongdoing, or take responsibility, or be willing to say we’re sorry. We’d rather war with our displeased silences than allow ourselves to become defeated and at a loss.
But instead we’ll confide in one another, especially with you sharing how you truly feel. Your frustrations, your sufferings, your immense irritation; your desire for me to wholeheartedly acknowledge your communications about how you feel. It is not all about me, it is due to the surrounding world which surrounds your considered yet busy, ever-changing bubble; you voice, you vent, you scream, then you’re seemingly spent. We now link hands, and forehead to pressed forehead we gaze into one another, our eyes calming the other, the viewing of our aching souls entwined together.
You wrap your arms around your now-caring and almost-barren tree, as the last leaves from my limbs fall with gentle ease. Winter is upon us, allow each to warm the other with a manner of understanding and openness to be felt and seen. For, our hearts are fiery in the heat in which they deliver and the clipped words and admonishments are lost in the airy but biting winter’s breath — this argument seems like the end of an unwanted era. Allow us to communicate more effectively, to prove true calming consideration at its best.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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