His voice is ripe with derision.
“It’s not me,” he insists.
“It’s you, You. YOU!”
You don’t make me smile.
You make me unhappy.
You made me cheat.
You made me leave.
You made me hate you.
You, you, you…
Your words precise with scorn,
And I am shamed.
I am stunned.
I am scorned.
I am nothing without you…
Consumed by the weight of time,
Nothing consoles me.
The sound of the clock ticking off seconds,
Sounds harsh and accusatory to my ears.
Is this punishment for some past, heinous crime that I committed under the influence of you?
It burns me to know that I settled for you,
And look what you’ve done!
You’ve trapped me here in this space called nowhere.
You intend to do nothing to help me escape,
Strangely, the fault is all mine…
I am the accused.
Tried, convicted, hung without fair representation.
The facts of this case remain unclear.
The closing arguments remain clouded by jealousy.
The evidence remains to be seen.
A jury of my peers are nowhere to be found.
The judge presiding over my case is you.
Need I say more?
I’ve been awfully neglectful in writing…but it’s only partially my fault. I guess all work and no play has left me drained, uninspired and wordless. Writer’s block happens to me and every other writer in the world but I feel different. I AM different. I feel like when I get writer’s block it will last forever. I will have no more words to mold into poems, no more stories to blog about. Of course I am being completely irrational and melodramatic; what else can a woman do when she feels her livelihood slipping away from her???
Confessions of a Thinkaholic 