Sunday, March 15, 2009

Oh, the relief of not being a man. For if I were, I would have to know rage. I have never known it. There is a stopping, a stopper built into me. My makeup. Is it my feminine? Is it my sex? I can say the word hate, but I don't know it. Hate is the heaviest word I know. The weight to carry with it, will bend you beyond the measure intended by uttering, conceiving. I have tried to hate before. It is not worth it. The hated never gets the benefit of your pain, your desired wrangling of despair. Men project the rage of anger/hatred outward by use of fists/guns/tanks/bombs. I have lived a life surrounded by guns. I could hate them. I could. I am relieved to not have one in my hands. I am bare armed and fearing the machines of war being built up all around me. And then I wonder who I am when I suddenly want to punch?

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The Bun

The Bun
If you don't like rabbits, you can suck it, shove it and then go soak your head.