Right now I am feeling really tired.

I was made redundant and am starting the process of going on social welfare.

I’m tired of job hunting and job interviews and the whole process.

One, I’m a very shy person and interviews feel awkward and weird. Its strangers asking me questions about stuff, and judging/comparing me to others. They’re asking questions that put you on the spot like what are your salary expectations- as if its a okay question to ask- its such a loaded question and we all know that.

I’ve applied and applied and had lots of rejection letters- they also get you down.

How am I supposed to be all happy and confident with constant rejection and constant disappointme

She has become a fire breathing dragon,

stay away from my gold

it might be a little

but it’s mine.

She looks at all the hunters and thinks

what makes you think

you deserve my gold?

It’s funny how you  think

you can exploit a good, kind, loving person.

I watch you trying all the time

trying to get people to give everything to you

while you give nothing back.

You wonder why people are resistant to you,

and fight back the only way they know how.

You keep trying

thinking exploiting others makes you a winner.

The sad thing is the good, loving, kind person

starts to think they’re a loser- when they really aren’t.

I watch how you treat people

and I’m not sure why you think you’re behaviour

is justified

when it really isn’t.

Around the talk of children

he looks meaningfully at you.

Every one at the table notices and mentions it.

You tell me how he was the perfect house husband

while you were at work last week,

I already see how much in love you are with him.

How I envy you that.

Someone who wants to grow and build with you.

Your dreams of a husband and family will take off,

because he wants that too.

We all see it.

I have always wanted something like that too,

its the only way dreams can come true.

You tell me you don’t want a romantic relationship

You tell me you don’t want someone to try and change you

You tell me you think you’re bad at relationships.

And I think- you really don’t know me at all.

I think having sex is a type of  romantic relationship,

I think you’ll change either way, with or without me- I don’t control that.

I think you failed once and think thats all you can do.

But then again I still don’t really know you.

At the bus stop

comes a man with his cap on backwards

his knuckles have tattoos

as does his hands, the back of his leg,

inside of his arm,

he carries his speaker on loud

with its hip hop rap

he wears broad shorts and white tee,

but his shoes and bags hint at money.

He’s mid 40’s.

Are you trying to live up to a aesthetic?

do you think looking like a gangsta will make you one?

She types up the diagnosis,

aggressive brain cancer,  people diagnosed with this can live up to two years with this- then she types the age of the patient,9.

It hits her. A nine year old who may not make it to 11.  A girl who won’t live to become a woman. Who won’t fall in love, have her heartbroken, who won’t leave her parents home to live, who won’t get a job, lose her job, hate her job or love her job.

She thinks of the parents-both screaming at each other and at God for who else can there be to blame when its noone’s fault? They have to tell the other children, they have to feel their feelings and communicate while trying to help their children, even the 9 year old understand what death and dying means. They have to prepare- organise the money, organise the funeral and think about continuing to live in the midst of all this.

She thinks about the friends and family who want to help, but don’t really know how. Who want to reassure the mother and the father that they can do this- though really no one should have to.

She also thinks about fate- she’s just a typist, doing her job but she wonders about tragedy and why she’s so lucky to never have had anything this bad happen in her own life. The parents must feel guilty for some of the disease traces back to them as much as they bought this child into the world- she has the disease that came with it.

The scars on your arms

tell me a story that you don’t have to,

the story of wanting release from the pain you were in.

The scars on your arms

are many- this how you coped

living through the abuse you went through.

You don’t need to tell me this story,

its written all over your arm

and I learnt to read that story a long time ago.

I thought money would make you happy

so I gave you that

I thought love would make you happy

so I gave you that too

yet somehow all of that is not enough.

I thought money would make you feel secure

I thought love would make you feel secure

yet somehow all of that is not enough.

And I wonder

would anything ever be enough for you

to feel happy and secure

Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like if men didn’t have such big egos.

I am thinking of two in particular who both come from having money.

They assume everyone else is interested in every little thing they do and say- as if they are god.  Their opinions are god but any one else who has a opinion must be crushed.

Both of these men are also so selfish- they’re trying to get everyone else to do everything for them and that is not healthy. For them and the people around them but they don’t see their own behaviour and the resistance that creates.

I’ve been watching them, and thinking about them. In many ways they are also closed off- they won’t help anyone else, they won’t apologise when they’ve clearly made a mistake and yet expect everyone else to do that too them- they want to be respected yet don’t respect others.

I would like to be wrong about these two people.