It’s not always easy to stop from taking my feelings out on those closest to me. In the same way that children throw tantrums with the people they are the most comfortable around, knowing they’re safe and loved through them, I have this natural inclination to push the limits of just how much I can get away with. I don’t want to get away with taking for granted the love of the people that care for me, though. I don’t want to forget how lucky I am and that no one owes me their time. I give myself constant reminders that I can’t take the hurt other people gave me out on the new situations that I find myself in. Some days, despite the reminders, the rage persists.
Hateful, Call me Ungrateful
I hate that I get impatient with you when I know that you’re a good person.
I hate how much I loathe waiting for you when your time estimate proves way off.
I only hate waiting for you because I hate being away from you.
I can’t stand that it’s such a struggle to extend the same courtesies that I demand.
I wonder if I’m too hard on you, like all of the time.
But I hate when you’re helping other people when the world crashing is mine.
I hate that I’m dramatic and everything’s a big deal
And that sometimes the past gets in the way of how, right now, I feel
I hate when I worry but nothing is wrong
I hate it even more that I’m not musical and can’t turn poems about you into songs
and that the twelve hours you’re gone feels like thirteen hours too long
I hate that I’m rhyming when I really tried not to
At least you can see that these defaults I get stuck in aren’t just with you.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 