Great Expectations

No Light.

I must stop this madness.

I must open these eyes.

I must learn to ignore the desperation to feel heard, understood and respected inside.

I must embrace being told

Who I am

What I should do

And when

I must understand everyone and recognize that I am not understandable.

I must accept and expect to be treated to a bassinet full of gas lit with matches made of twenty dollar bills.

I must open my wallet and pour it on the counter before opening my mouth to choke down these pills that don’t work.

I must expect to be wrong about anything and everything that I think. I must not allow this to sink me down deep and remain upbeat — never wearing a frown.

Smile for the boys, what they expect is paramount. My hopes and dreams are theirs to lead. If I wiggle to try to get free from that grasp, I’m a traitor to my own rat race.

If even one of these people drumming their beat of sore wins took one of their precious seconds to fucking hear me, understand why I’m afraid — showed me empathy and compassion — basic human respect, maybe I could believe their bullshit rhetoric.

But instead I am told eventually I’ll use my head again — the fuck did you say? And responded to then blocked in the most disrespectful of ways.

I’m hurting but it doesn’t matter now even more than it didn’t before.

I don’t expect you to try, to listen or care; I don’t expect you to hold space or be there for me, understand my terrorized insides. I don’t expect you to want to learn more about any of the people you’ve decided have everything wrong.

You never have before, so why would you start now?

I have believed too hard in you. I have believed too much in my communication skills. I have expected that people around me, even when they don’t agree to at least try to hear me.

It is always the same people who point straight at me, talk to me about who I am, what I know, where I got shit wrong who cannot handle it at all when it comes back at you.

Don’t think for a second this doesn’t hurt, it does.

But where you got me fucked up is if you think that pain will stop me from being who I have always been.

I thrive in pain.

I AM STILL FUCKING HERE.

I don’t understand YOU? I am hurting YOU? If I would just … then things would be …

SOUNDS LIKE THE SAME OLD SHIT TO ME.

I have to bend and flex and bow to your will and any time I have the nerve to stand up for myself I am told I’m hurting you.

Well fuck me, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that looking at this ugly is too much for you. I’m sorry that you don’t like what the aftermath of your voting FOR MY abuse looks like to you.

Good grief. One would think instead that the ‘supposed winners’ of this bullshit would extend an olive branch and try to understand the other side for a change. But no matter how good you got it, you’re just never happy until we agree to see it your way.

None of the things I have seen begging for understanding have taken one fucking sentence to ask me what I think.

So I have no expectation of a two way street here.

Say whatever you want to, it no longer surprises me.

Fucking hell.

-Cyborg