spouting off

I usually buckle when I’m accused of being so “pissed off” all of the time. What the hell do I have to be so pissed off about anyway? Nothing, I suppose. Or, maybe everything. Maybe I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. Maybe I’m pissed off that I can’t talk about anything without a fight or yelling or being talked to like I’m a child. I am not a child. And guess what? I AM pissed off. And sometimes there’s nothing wrong with that.

I just needed to say that. I have a lot more to say. I have so much to say that I have no idea where to begin.

And maybe I shouldn’t. It will just piss off a lot of other people.

This is where we are. Biting our tongues. Turning our backs. Hiding the confusion and pain until we can’t anymore and then BAM! There’s not enough room in the world for the beast that could be unleashed. Hold on to the chains, woman. Just hold on.

My head hurts. I’m too young for this and yet, too old.

So am I pissed? Goddamn right I’m pissed.

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