As I was searching through my computer files tonight for an old resume, I stumbled upon this angst ridden little epithet from several years ago. At least I've cheered up somewhat since then...
The attention always seems to come from the wrong places - hungry men wanting to somehow pin down an elusive aspect of me. And me always shying away, never impressed, wanting to be alone in my bed with my shabby continual despair, my flabby repetitive jealousies and petty hatreds. Examining the small white scars of the years as if they could etch themselves into a storyline explaining where I've been and why I'm here. The crushing inertia of daily survival has spent my energy and exhausted my bravery so that I am too tired to flee responsibility or inevitability.
Doldrums coming on hard again and the constant fear of being alone; a shadowy finger which might press down and smash me no matter what language I speak, what far place of the world I try to hide. Fucking uncertainty follows me through my waking hours (which I try to make few), a relentless foe and surely the only thing I can count on besides an intense isolation which will gradually abate to vague misery in an endless repetitive cycle, rising and setting with my days.
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You may have felt terrible, but your expressed your feelings rather well. I can't take my own prose when feeling down and try to compact all those conflicting feelings into a few lines of poetry.
Really, you aren't powerless; a strong person strives to understand things while an impotent person just justifies their every action.
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