(a mean letter from late last night)
Last night, I woke up
Saw this angel
He flew in my window
And he said, "Girl,
Pretty proud of yourself, huh?"
And I looked around and I said, "Who, me?"
Read my old posts—who wrote that stuff?
You. Yeah, you! I know your voice.
So calm, so caring and soooo eager to help
It’s the voice of books, seasoned with analogies
Just a touch of warmth. Even hints of a parable.
Your chirpy optimism makes me grind my teeth.
Have it all figured out, don’t you?
Everyone’s life from way up there
Didn’t catch the part where you tell them about the guys at the party on Saturday
Ten or so? The carpet burns under your knees
Have more to say than your memories
(“Better than the carpet burns on his back!”)
Missed the part about the porn
And being too shit scared to call a doctor
Or a therapist
Or even a damn mechanic
And how you get close to guy after guy
More afraid of getting close than you
You run away by proxy and it’s never your fault
Pretty proud of yourself, huh?
You’re just another front, MemoryVault – another way to impress.
There, there. Good survivor.
Funny how you can post the deepest thoughts you have
And still be alone and lying