Ewww-motions

Emotions

I don’t understand why they exist.

I wish they didn’t.

What are they?

Nothing but embarrassment.

It’s inappropriate to feel this way.

It has no place in my life.

I can’t fit it into any compartment,

Neatly folded and locked away —

Or buried with an aspen rod

In its heart.

Emotions must be a disease,

As disgusting as sweat and piss.

I hate everything “natural” —

Only finest perfumes for me, please.

And flawless logic that gets me

From A to B in a straight line,

Without any dumb adventures.

I want easy life — emotions complicate it.

I want to look good — they make me ridiculous.

I want to be invincible — they make me weak.

They are just an aching appendix

I wish I knew how to cut out:

Not only useless — dangerous.

A liability, not an asset.

Successful people are too smart

To be emotional.

Successful people set goals

And achieve them,

Not burdened with this stupid shit,

Or find ways to purge it

At psychotherapy sessions —

That yucky funk no one needs to see.

I don’t think I want to go in for psychology anymore.

I’ve always despised emotional people.

Intellect is worthy of respect,

Feelings are not.

I’d sell my soul to be one of those folks —

Problem-free, not humiliated, not lacking.

To be a cold-hearted bitch all men drool over,

Because f...f... fffeelings (sorry, I just threw up a little)

Did nothing but made men I wanted run away.

“Ewwwww, she has feelings!

We want nothing but a plastic sex doll,

Thank you very much, fuck you!”

Well, I’m just guessing but prove me wrong.

To have emotions is like having lice,

Or whatever else that’s even worse.

Isn’t it horrible

That one may get cancer

For not expressing emotions?

What? To look and sound

Like a total wacko,

Begging to be laughed at —

Or die??

Stop the Earth, I’ll come off.

My Inner Child speaks up.

“I am those emotions,” she says.

“No, you can’t be that,” I object,

“Can you please be logical instead?”

She shakes her head...

No wonder children are gross.

“Good things are coming your way,” she insists.

I try not to shut her down

The way I did before

But detach and listen without judgement,

And that’s nearly impossible.

“What do you know, little one?” I ask,

“Which one of us is in la-la-land?”

I guess that wasn’t respectful...

“You’re the one in a boo-boo-land!”

She exclaims, hurt.

“Don’t you think an honest ‘boo-boo’

Is better than imaginary ‘la-la’?”

I object. Can’t believe

I stooped that much to her level.

Reasoning with kids...

They have no sense.

I have things to do

And feelings get in the way.

I am ashamed of them.

They don’t get me that Dream Home

I always wanted,

They don’t get my book published,

Or anything positive at all —

They only tear me to pieces,

And my Inner Child says she is ‘that’.

Isn’t it doom or what?

“You’re not being honest,” she says,

“You’re just protecting yourself.”

Duh... how can I not?

“I’ve reached my limit many times over,”

I say to her,

“And can’t take this anymore.”

She looks me in the eye and listens.

“I regret asking for that time loop

Into mid-nineties,” I say,

Not hoping she’ll understand,

“Whatever I wanted out of it

Is not here,

And all I get is pain.

Lots of crap thrown at me,

Ugly domestic situation —

A lot like back then,

With no hope for the future.

Nothing feasible anyway.”

She is silent, for a long time.

Maybe she’ll leave — and I’ll miss her

And I don’t know why.

Wouldn’t it be nice

To never cry anymore,

To never be disturbed

By someone else’s suffering,

Which I don’t have the means to help anyway?

If I had tons of money,

I’d buy them all the shit they want —

Anything to make that Inner Child shut up,

Keep them distracted and not bother me.

No one wants to hear a crying baby.

Mine is the same nuisance

As everyone else’s.

“I need you to be present for me,”

She finally replies,

“The way you need the man in your life

To be present for you.”

My oh my... that begins to make sense.

“Duh,” she mimics me.

Feisty little imp.

“Emotions are mirrors,” she says to me,

“They show you something’s wrong

About that person, situation,

Or something you did, or neglected to do,

Words you said that affected someone

And made them cry.

That is, if you feel bad — watch out.”

Will I ever feel good for a change?

And where did she learn all that stuff?

“Thanks for explaining,” I reply

And look around.

Everything seems wrong.

That never-ending mess is draining me.

I clean it up, and someone makes much more.

I want to run away

And that’s a strong emotion,

Yet stupid, just like all of them —

Unrealistic.

Where to? How do I get the money?

And if life sucks no matter what

Then why am I still holding on?

Finding things to love...

Yes there are many

But not the most important one.

Take it out — and everything is bleak.

That’s how much I depend

On love I never-ever get.

I am ashamed to the core...

“I’m not,” she says. “I depend on you.”

“But I have nothing to give you,” I protest,

“Barely keeping my head above water.”

“Well, this is how men feel —

Those you lay your eye on,” she informs me.

Ain’t it good to know?

Fuck emotions.

Can’t take it anymore.

Life isn’t what I wanted

And ‘what is’ is one pathetic failure.

Shall I go gulp that wine, stashed for the guests?

I won’t give a shit for anything until tomorrow...

Or ask my spouse for that crap he’s smoking?

Might knock me down for the rest of the week...

Well, damn, drunks and addicts are ugly

And my god is Beauty.

Or shall I bang my fist on the desk and scream?

That wouldn’t be pretty either.

Don’t know what to do

To make this pain go away

And never-ever come back.

Some problems have no solution

Or the fight is so long and hard

That the result isn’t worth it.

And if there’s anything that is...

Perhaps there’s no such thing

And why the hell did I write this?

Should have studied copyrighting

And gotten somewhere in life

Instead.

January 20, 2021.