Resentment from the Grave

It’s kind of amusing to think about things I don’t say out loud because I say

everything out loud.

But then it had me thinking,

there are things I don’t say, not even to myself

or to God.

Things like, how I resent my grandmother from the grave.

For giving me the best childhood a kid could ask for and for effing up my

moms.

I don’t say that out loud, the word fuck. It’s not even part of my vocabulary

and I don’t even like typing it out.

But it’s something I don’t say out loud.

I don’t want others to know I’ve thunk it.

But I feel we hide behind an invisible wall.

God knows I’ve said the F word.

He knows I’ve said it about my dead grandmother.

Who tricked me on my 8th birthday and bought me dresses instead of toys.

I cried,

because I was ungrateful.

But she planned to school the brat in me when after I cried, she told me to

check the bedroom because she heard something growling in there.

I wiped my snotty tears and there it was. A big giant plush Disney Beast

sitting on the bed.

Straightway, my entire life has recollected this moment.

I hugged my grandmother so tight as she

laughed at the trickery she pulled to make a woman out of me.

This was my favorite memory.

But why didn’t she do that for my mother?