argument~ta~tive~ness

go on.

say something.

tell me how I should do it.

what I should feel.

tell me

I’m wrong.

tell me

I need to get a life.

go on.

raise your voice.

your tone.

puff your shoulders up.

stretch out the back bone.

lift that chin.

tell me, tell me

I’m fucked.

I’m a mongrel.

I’m lazy.

I’m useless.

go on, mother fucker.

tell me again.

tell me, what you think.

tell me what I should really be thinking.

go on, correct my feelings.

I fucking dare you.

tell it like it is.

tell me, fuck yah.

go on, just like you used to do.

when I was weaker,

vulnerable,

in need,

sicker,

wanting a hand,

a shoulder,

was whiny,

loser-ish.

isn’t that how you put it.

mongrel bitch,

go on, try it again motherfucker.

please, please.

I am in need of a dam good fucking argument.

you used to like it like that,

but now,

not so much, ay.

because my voice

my arm

my anger

my fierce

my being

my woman

my heart

my soul

and my fucking steel

spirit.

don’t play that shit no more.

so, I tell you.

I dare you.

try it, go on, try it.

and see what happens.


kpm©


 

and then the argument started

So I cried like a bitch through the emdr…all cathartic and stuff…and draining…

And when the shrink left I made a cuppa and headed straight outside for a ciggy.

And, apparently the shrink had shooed away my partner during our session…I was in the middle of the finger waving and earth trembling break through shit…and…

that had pissed the partner off something terrible!

“Waved away in my own fucken house…I was looking for my fucken keys…how dare she…she’s just upsetting you anyway…your still miserable…and you’re not getting any better…and I still haven’t found my fucken keys…and why does she come here anyway…ahh that’s right, you can’t drive…fuck…and I still haven’t found the keys…”

Yeah…so we’ve had 24 hours, post emdr, arguing the fuck out of car keys…

But actually…

after all my insecurities dissipated slightly, and I refocused…

not before I had hurled the old…”I told you I had a fucken appointment today…one fucken hour and you couldn’t wait to find the fucken car keys till after…fuck you”

Yeah, that was a winner.

But back to the refocusing…

This man does not process like…well, like me…because, he isn’t me. He verbalises and attacks with his big mouth…I write. His mind is what I call a huge fucken shambles and I don’t understand why he can’t analyse stuff and connect the dots…but he’s not me; he calls me an anal fucker! That’s how he sees how I see things…

So

Refocusing –

  • We’re about to move out of our house…to…fuck knows where
  • You have just been told you have a tumor in/on your spine
  • You are used to working…hard…now you can hardly walk
  • You are tired
  • You worry about me and get frustrated with me
  • Your generally taken for granted by your peers and your family

How do you not join those dots together my dear? Ah, that’s right…your a man…a man who thinks old school…that he should provide and take care of and be everything to everyone and talk and laugh and make everyone happy…and when you lose your car keys…

everything falls apart.

We’re tired now…but I’m not leaving your ass today and your not leaving my ass today.

We live to fight another day…pun intended.


kpm ©