martin so, my dad died yesterday.

what is it to you?
daxle What I learned when my dad died is that it means nothing to anyone else like it does to you, and you can't expect it to. 990430
jennifer my father, who plays yanni music very loudly in his room, always yells at me to clean my dinner plate
clean my dinner plate
clean my dinner plate

today I did
and he promptly retorted with a comment on how fat I am getting
jennifer sitting in the car the other day
watcing through the windshield
as my parents discussed
fuses and bulbs and
other car items
I looked at my father from the side
and realized that I did not
know him.
From the side, he was
a stranger.
And I wondered if
I had always seen him this way
Or if my life had brought
such a change in me
that I no longer knew the man
I called dad.
andrea The Father:
For Someone He Never Knew

Child, so real
I almost touch you
you reaching through

my fog of disbelief,
once I
forgave myself
that I didn't try

a place
with you beyond my fear,
I built your house
so near

my heart
no one would know.
Friend, sweet
daughter/son, I go.

In the only way
open to me.
I say
no more than see

that you ride
in this thin rain
me down

the road to home,
teenager now,
and I have become,
no matter how,

better this year.
I might wish otherwise.
You could wear
my clothes.

copyright Michael Burns
bellee fill me with your knowledge,
with your experience,
your expertise due to the days-gone-by happenings
that you so often recount.
show me the exit ramp
from the vile highway you say i travel
to the humble, or not so, hamlet
from which your ideals come.
there are no signs of
phosphorescent yellow and green
to lead me in the right direction.
only the sirens of an angry squadron
consisting of one officer
can be heard,
screaming into the corners of my mind,
my emotions reeling due to the doplar distortion,
only blue to light and dark the road.
the noise would not be so intolerably horrid
if only there were substance to it,
to the belligerent beating of my will.
your unthinking is what crushes mine.
i would learn if you would teach,
climb if holds were provided.
preaching without doctrine is pointless,
as is your pursuit.
you shout hosannas and reprimands,
but do not care enough to show me
what it is that i should do.
you are blind, but you will not lead me.
amy so i got my dad on the horn, and asked him what i was like as a child."chipper" he says. extremely pleasant. it took me a long, long time to understand how *anybody* would have a bad day. everything was always fine with me. of course, everybody falls from their childhood. today, at my best moments, i feel this way. and the rest the time, i agonize about why i don't feel that way, and why nobody else feels that way. 000212
lauren "Did yoy get any grades back today? "
he asked
I shook my head no.
"Did you take any tests today?"
he asked
I shook my head no
"Well the what's the point of going to school?"
I leave home in 473 days
camille The Clause

Gives me the preposition that you joined with me
To create the idealism ofI am

Words dance upon page
Leap into heart
My feet still moist
From the rain of your words

I look even deeper than a well
Into the print on paper
Between the very fibers with looking glass

I am thrown back
With a force comparable to
Falling off the seventh rung on a ladder
Then upon falling
You take my breath

Absorbing thought, sight and sound
I have experienced what no other will ever experience
Yet mere words appear to be as primitive as drum beat
So I cannot explain

Who you are to me
You alone, know my beginning and my end
You alone take me to depths and heights
Never before reached

Open my windows and continue
To fill me within
With your sweet breath
Your stillness that overwhelms…

I move and you cease to exist
I still myself and you begin to dance across the page

You came to me robed with the fragrance of being.
Tell me flowers will continue to put off their scent, when my father is no longer with me.
When he walks towards you
Adding to our clause

February 15, 2000
MollyGoLightly hmm. i'm not even going to touch this one. don't feel i'm qualified to, really. 000531
MollyGoLightly mine called about 5 minutes ago.

he asked if i wanted to come visit. he said he, his wife, and their son were getting ready to go to a dodger game.
WingedSerpent people sometimes ask me about my family.
about my parents.
when i say that they have both long since passed away, that they are dead - I get the usual response:

"Oh, I'm sorry."

My sense of humor (inherited from my father, who we generally referred to as "The Old Man")leads me to respond:

"Why? you didn't kill them."

Some people don't quite know how to take that.
emily ...i wonder if mine remembers me... 000531
yola mine used to say to me all the time "let me pick your brain" so that he could get me to think like him. last week, he wandered around panama. 000531
MollyGoLightly *laughs*

"you didn't kill them."

that's very funny.
nym I am my father's son, he was a phantom, a mystery

and that leaves me nothing
silentbob my father smells like an old man who sits at a truckstop his whole life and forgets to shower 010117
unhinged hey dad, you're strangling me over here. i can't quite breathe. a plant doesn't need as much direction as a tree as it does as a sapling. i've been growing in the direction that you want me too for years and now i'd just like to take that pruning out into the world with me and see where i grow. you're always talking about how i need to be an adult but you don't let me. what am i supposed to do? 010117
rollins like i really wanna waste my energy taking my father out on the sidewalk so i can break his skinny arms? 010117
Laura the rain kissed my head,
like my father used to,
distant relations,
no more talks,
long forgotten hugs,
you are not gone,
but I miss you.
Aimee father of mine, tell me where have you been? 010318
lacan/everclear "father of mine" by everclear is about no one's father who is also everyone's father and his name is the name of the father. and as our good friend jacques lacan explains, the name of the father signifies the desire of the mother, which is the unsignifiable. since the name of the father signifies the maternal phallus, and in lacanian terms a phallus is not a mere penis: it is a penis combined with the idea of absence. so the maternal phallus is not the mother's penis, but the mother's non-existent penis, no not even that: it's the mother's existent non-existent penis. so the name of the father is an existent non-existent, a present absence, an absent presence, a paradox incarnate. which is nothing suprising, since if logic is the symbolic, and the real is the remainer of the operation of the entry into the symbolic, then real must lie outside of logic. yet at the same time it must lie within. for the name of the father is the signifier of the unsignifiable, thus it is not a signifier at all. it clearly means nothing, and yet it clearly means something... 010414
thats me :) 010517
lizardqueen It's beautiful and sickening at the same time.."Come here boy...let daddy tie your shoes before you trip."

I hear complaints all the time from people who say their fathers are too strict. I crave that strictness.

Once when I was about four I remember getting lost in a department store. A nice, handsome man asked me why I was crying. When I told him I couldn't find my mother, he picked me up in his big firm arms and asked me if i could see her from that height. I looked down into his careful and gentle eyes. I had seen her plain as day by the Jewelry case, unaware of my absence. "No I cant see her", I had lied. I thought maybe wed spend the day together, after all why waste time looking for my mother when we had eachother. I clung to his arm, he was asking me questions...i think he asked what my moms name was and my age...but i was too busy pretending he was my dad. I was proud to walk through the store with him as i grasped around his forearm...my tears had turned to a grin. Only until he approached a stroller and a woman with long red hair. I remember him calling her honey. He explained that I had gotten lost while he caressed the hair of the kid in the stroller. I figured out it must be his and ran like hell to the jewelry case in tears. I dont let people pick me up anymore.
Casey I almost killed my dad once. We were wrestling and he had a heart attack. After that I took a vow to never wrestle or hurt another person again. 010609
florescent light I hate you for fucking me up

now I can never be happy
Dafremen I don't write about my adoptive father much. I consider him to be my only parent since he was the only one of 10 or so foster families that finally gave me a home.

The reason I don't talk write about the man much is because he is a private person and I respect that.

My father has always been a paradox to me. On the one hand he is one of the most technically inept people on the face of the planet(ok so that's a bit of an exaggeration,) but at the same time he is a BRILLIANT psychologist and a consummate professional, so I can't help but have the deepest respect and admiration for him.

I guess if there something in PARTICULAR that I could say to him right now it would be:

Thanks for the home and the family. Thanks for the roots, I neeeded them, I had none of my own and you shared yours with me.

Thanks for the name too. Thanks for a name behind which there is substance and honor, my old one rang hollow and empty and filled me with shame.

Thanks for the safety net through my teenage years. I needed it very much and I needed it removed at just about the time you removed it. You helped me to remember the strength and self-reliance of my early childhood, for that I will be forever grateful.

Thanks for letting me call you father, it has been and will continue to be a great honor.

I love you Dad, Roger.
ever dumbening He just turned 72; I bought him tai ji quan classes for his birthday. I've been helping him between classes. It's very strange to teach him, to make the choices for once, to select the filters, to mete out patience or judgement. Now I'm giving it back, the good and the bad; I could not do otherwise; I got it from you. 011114
whoknows father
i killed my monkey
ClairE priest
howling wind

so much bitterness.
Dis Left us when I was 13. I don't blame him, life with mom wasn't easy for any of us and we weren't a very tightly knit group, anyway. Still, he never called or wrote once he was on the outside.

My mother always said dad saw the world in terms of "us" and "them". While he was with us, we were us and they were them. When he left us, we became them.

I'm not angry or resentful that I never heard from him again, sometimes a person just wants out of a dismal situation. I can understand that, no harm no foul. Then again, perhaps my lack of outrage is indicative of just how badly I've been damaged.

I'm not sure where he is right now, but I'm betting he looks very old.
twiggie He doesn't understand.

You'd think that a doctor would have the most empathy for other people, and he has lots of it for his patients.

But when it comes to my mom, he even told her, he has no sympathy or empathy whatsoever for her.

He is the epitomy of a self-centered asshole.

He constantly involves my grandparents in his marriage. It makes me want to reach out and strangle him. My grandma doesn't like my mom and never has. She's told my mom that she's not fit for parenting, she had a fucked up childhood, and has said many more offensive comments to grind salt in the wound.

Not that I have to explain, but my mom is one of the greatest mothers I've ever seen. How many people have always been able to tell their mother everything? I don't know very many. She has ALWAYS been there for me and has always been honest with me.

My father feels that he doesn't have to do anything but his job. His hospital job. Everything around the house is my mom's responsibility. Except...she can't do everything. She has a muscle disease. She doesn't have the energy that most people do. If she could do what every other mom does, she would. She tries, and she tries to the point of being so worn out she has to rest for days.

My dad doesn't care why she has to lay down, he cares that because she lays down, she can't take care of her wifely duties.

He often talks about women's equality and all that...but it doesn't apply to my mother. Never has. She is supposed to be the happy wife that will have dinner ready when he gets home and everything will be sparkling clean.

Ever since she's been married, she's never done anything for herself.

The first time was a couple of months ago, when she brought our horse to training and took lessons. She told me it was the most fun she'd had in years. It ended with her in a neck brace, and she's sick again. My dad is having one of his fits about our house not being clean because she's sick.

I'm the only person she can really talk to right now, and while we were going to the bank today she just started crying.

I want to intervene more than anything, but it's none of my business...right?

I'm on the verge of tears and it's so far out of my hands...

I just want her to be happy.
little wonder so_obvious 020214
girl_jane What's a father?

Oh, yeah, ok.
Hmm...I thought a father was just in exsistance to put a check in the mail once a month like the court tells him to. I didn't know he was supposed to love me and actually participate in raising me.

My father's dead too.
carne de metal O mio babbino caro. 020215
Mateo What I see here is people whos father is dead and people who hate their father. I guess hating youre father is kind of frivolus in comparison. I love mine by the way, asaid from some structural moral discrepations. But that happens whith everybody,. 020215
dionysos fa*ther (fä'ther) n. 1. see sperm donor 020308
little wonder i don't hate mine,
i just involve myself in things that i probably shouldn't, but can't help to either.
it's too hard to ignore how my mom feels.
it's too hard to ignore that he's divorcing her [blindsided].
this should only have to be between 2 people.
it really shouldn't be of any concern to me.
but it is.
jane how do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever when we were little. maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage or making us nervous, because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.

do we forgive our fathers for marrying our mothers, or not marrying our mothers; for divorcing or not divorcing our mothers; and shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness.. shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning or shutting doors, for speaking through walls or never speaking, or never being silent

do we forgive our fathers in our time or in theirs, or in their Deaths, say it to them or not saying it
if we forgive our fathers, what is left?
Sintina a dad's death is an interesting reminisence on father's day. His death was weird... everyone said "I'm sorry.."
And I said "It's okay, really..."
And they gave me strange looks.
I wrote a story about all of it
"Sometimes, the Death of
An Enemy
Can be worse than that of
A Friend."
Because everyone thinks that the enemy was a friend, because he should have been a friend, but no one knows...
Freak my father...?
oh him...
hes dead
hes been dead to me for a long time now.
devalis always knew what this word meant but I never had one of my own. My mother called him "the donor". Never felt cheated, either, thought me and my mom and my brother did pretty well without him.

he called me once, last year and wanted to talk. I asked him if it was one of his 12 steps and hung up. that fucker. if he had wanted to get to know his daughter, he could have picked up the phone sometime in the last 16 years.

it's nothing but a word to me.
devalis my only father is the Father above. He always makes time to call... and He has the entire world to look after. 020818
Sintina I have forgiven him at last.
May all of you know it.
May all of creation know that he is forgiven by me.

Stop haunting me now... spirit, you are forgiven.
Rhin is annoying me! he keeps flying over my house. i am trying to work here goddamnit! i think he's finally lost whatever it is that he had left to lose! how can i take out his prop. from a ground position? 020830
cresentwhench I wish I could get as drunk as my dad can.
Maybe then we could hold "father/ daughter slam dancing" on the back porch.

He beat me up one time. I wish I knew he was drunk then, maybe I could have beat him up too.

I've got a long long way to go.

To me a father is not a good thing.
To me a father is something to fear.
Something to run from.
I needed somewhere to hide.
I found the place in myself

drunk fathers build self-destructive children. I AM PROOF.
Kristopher My father is a wonderful man. He's also a tattooed biker. This would usually bring great amusement to himself and others.

One time, he took my brother, my cousins and myself to an old-school WWF wrestling match. Very old-school, the time when Randy Savage was King. Anyway, we were sitting in a row, my father on the end. Now, something you need to know about my father; his arms are full of tattoos and he almost always wore a black sleeveless t-shirt bearing some random motorcycle icon. He was wearing a solid black sweatshirt this evening over his motorcycle t-shirt.

So, we were all sitting in a row, and these four college students come up the row behind us and sit down. One of them is clumsy with their cheesy nachos, and spills it all down my father's sweatshirt. My dad, the calmest one I know (until he isn't), didn't say a word, simply stood up and removed his stained sweatshirt, revealing his tattoos and t-shirt. These four students literally blanched, and I distinctly heard one of them mumble, "Oh, shit, he's a biker." He turned around, stared at the four for a minute, and quietly said, "Someone should be getting me some napkins." All four practically ran from their seats, and returned with great handfulls of paper towels.

That was some good fun.
Clare I thought he was supposed to love you. He loved me. But now he hates me. We still live in the same house, but no words have passed between us for months. I scream & cry on my own at night, I feel so lost without him.

He was the one who stayed by my side, I was in a coma, he was there when I woke up. I was clinically depressed, locked away in a psychiatric institution- he visited me, he loved me.

What happened? Doesn't he know how much I need him? He does- that's the difference, he knows how much I need him, but he doesn't care anymore xx
tortuous it was sunny outside. i was just called in from playing with my best friend. my mother was still at work and my brothers were both off at their friends' houses. my father was acting weird again, and he called my into his room... on his bed lay a 10 gauge shotgun. he sat down and started talking to me while he loaded the gun. it wasn't 'that' odd because he sometimes made sure they were in working order. i soon realized after my father started to get loud and angry that he wasn't loading that gun for fun. that loaded shotgun was soon pointed straight at me. barrel down my face. tears gushing from my eyes. that was the day i realized my father had a drinking problem. that was the day i realized my own mortality. that was the day my innocence ended. that day i was eight years old. i can't remember much else from that day and my father denys it from ever happening. but ever since that day i've been walking out of a tunnel of pain and anguish and i wish i could see the light. 030825
poorbehavior you're never there
you're never there
you're never ever ever

oh- how i wish you cared enough
to be there
tessa Is it my fault that I hate him?
Is it my fault that he hates me?

I can't help it that I am more able and more intelligent than he is. I know thats not my fault.
I can't help it that he can't do things for himself. I didn't make him the way he is.

I can't stand the silence that screams at me every day. I can't stand hating him again and again, a new hate every day.

I've tried. I tried to talk. I tried to forgive. Did I not try hard enough? Is is my fault I failed?

How much does it have to hurt before you are alowed to stop trying and not feel guilty about it?
tessa The worst part is that he simply doesn't care that I hate him.

And that no matter what I do, I can never hurt him as much he hurts me without even thinking about it.

All I can do is try to remember not to care.
puredream Is he actually going to give up drinking? 040702
alex everything i do is to make dad proud. he died when i was 6. 040809

I was born on a shaky earthquake fault line. Faulty but it was not my fault. I learned that when it rumbled to get out of the way so it wouldn’t digest me into its red unexistence.
He didn’t really want me; he doesn’t want me. He needed me for something else which I have not yet come to understand. For himself, I guess. Selfish. I don’t believe in that. I have only one dim, truly happy memory of him. Of a smile as he threw me into the air; a weightless child. And then I found out who he was. He drank formaldehyde once to get away, how strangely grateful I am that he did not leave completely. Though it was inevitable that he would.
Glorification in a Greek church. An oversized bible, garish it would seem in any other environment. Stained glass windows, candles in every direction. Angels painted on the walls. There was one angel, tremendous hanging to the left of where the priest stood. His parents told me it was angel Gabriel. They named him after a saint. And so I thought of him as something saintly too. And they chanted in Greek and waved incense around. His culture made my life exotic. It was beautiful.
He was cruel, giving up and getting out, without a care. Where would we go? A mother and her two children, without a home. It makes me want to hold her just to think of how she felt. Devastated, alone, afraid. All of the worst demon feelings existed inside her body. I love her for taking it for us. I love her.
Think of ebb and flow, except more jagged, that was my relationship with him. The high points hurt and the low points killed. What was he feeling inside his split personality mind? Anger was the point between his eyebrows when they were scrunched. He would bite his tongue and then erupt. I learned to take it. Nevertheless, a victim can only take it for so long; eventually, karma wins.
A child is not born with logic. Most of the time, my ignorance was bliss. Nevertheless, my intuitions were like those of a shaman. I would become ill every time he was coming to visit me. That is how I realized that he was wrong. What does a girl do when she just wants simple love from a person who will never give it to her? She keeps trying, so I kept going, and eventually became torn apart.
An occasional birthday card. Faux like a pro. A smiley face after the wordsI love you,” mocking me. Always things for me, never for my sister. Or, less for her. The abhorrent favorites game. I don’t understand what the point was, but then I do. Keep her quiet, make her think you love her the most. He was supposed to call me. He didn’t like it when I missed calling him, but he didn’t call. Days later a brief note in the mail. Rachel, I will not be able to be reached until... he had gone on vacation, not a CIA assignment. Plenty of phones around, one right next to his bed most likely, next to his pseudo dreaming self.
Time passes. It passed by and there was so much silence that I convinced myself that it would be okay. I wrote a letter with some fake forgiveness. Pretty handwriting, pretty colors (because that is what would change his mind), I wanted to fix it. Him: Dear Rachel, I was so glad to hear from you…(bullshit…bullshit…bullshit)…I also forgive you.
No. Fuck you. Fuck you. You do not forgive a child for your desertion. When you realize something really is impossible, that it’s never going to work out the way you think you need it to, there are no words in all the dictionaries in the universe to form a sentence that would describe that. Always in denial, Father’s Day came and I sent another lie to him. Later his used it in defense against me. The lawyer picked up the photocopied poem; completely personal , betrayed absolutely. That was not written for the unbiased third party to shove into my face saying, “See, you said you liked him.”
I could have just gotten lost, given up. Waited until I was forty or so to try and smooth things out. Live a mediocre life. Never really feel. There was so much evidence in the world that I shouldn’t let it wait. It was fate, nothing else could explain the way in which my life was heading. And I think of life and how it would, or rather, wouldn’t be if I hadn’t decided to just go with it. Draining and disorienting. Most people avoid confrontation at high cost. I was smothering myself with it.
The smell of the waiting room was musty and reminded me of my childhood. Once a week I would open the door to a nondescript building and the familiar smell would cause chemicals in my brain to send signals to whatever causes apprehension. Tension. So I brought him there, to tell him that he was wrong. I had only rediscovered his voice a short time before, so his face was strange to me. I was still a little girl, looking at his dark beard and the small smooth spot in the middle of his head.
My memories caused my past to become present. One hour was neither long nor short. It was like a crane had ripped that one room out of the building and thrown it into a black hole. Though I could barely get words out to tell him, when it was over, I felt as if I had just opened up my mouth and my thoughts had cast themselves out at him.
Blank face. My whole self had just exploded in front of him. His child just became more powerful than him. It was me being completely honest for the first time in my life with a person whom I have always lied to and been lied to. He taught me to be dishonest; his lessons backfired. But- nothing at all. I looked at his blank face- I looked with intent and when I saw that there was nothing there I became angry at him. It was the first time I was active and he was passive. And so he left.
Reflection- Narcissus because my face reflects him. I edit out the pieces of him that caused so much pain. Secretly, I have kept the characteristics that I think are beautiful. The ones that are beautiful no matter how crazy or mean some one is. Knowing that beauty is inside of everything hinders me from hating. On occasion I catch him in mirrors and scrunch up my eyebrows- send back some anger. Dark-eyed disorder but still unlike him. Once someone sang a song calledDark eyed Girlto me. Not knowing but still understanding. Father figures seem to come out of everyone but him. He lost me. He let go- threw me into the air but never caught me. And I’m still floating in that moment. That child is still waiting to come back to earth and be loved.
It is his own fault. He lost me when I learned to understand life outside of deception. Those horrible defining moments become so important. An experience is exponential. I understand now what people mean when they talk about building character. I see my experiences not as baggage holding me down as I walk through life, but as something stronger than muscle. If wisdom were visible it would be a golden glow. I want to become blinding.
applegirl i shouldn't have done that

emmi yesterday i was talking to my boyfriend on the phone, sitting on my bed which is opposite my mirror. i looked in the mirror accidentally and saw something i had never really seen before- i look like my dad.

just like that awful picture of him taken at the army, all pale skin, very oval face, empty round eyes with permanent black rings around them.

today i told my counsellor that no one ever talks about him anymore, even the pictures have been destroyed or locked away in the attic.

my father was an alcoholic, a weak man who didn't know how to live his life any other way. i remember those rare moments when he wasn't drunk, or when he finally recovered after already ruining my and my sister's childhoods...and thinking, my dad's really nice when he's sober. that's what i thought about and cried about at the funeral, after the car crash. i loved him because i was just a kid, i didn't know what else to do. he was my dad after all. i feared for his life all those years, a paranoid little girl who wouldn't fall asleep until everyone else had...because i thought i was taking care of everyone...all these stupid adults punching holes into walls. and then when he died, i had no control over anything. it was a car crash of all things...i couldn't protect him. it happened in a second.

now i wonder what my mum thinks when she looks at me and sees his eyes staring back at her.
ever dumbening i pull open the center drawer of my desk in search of a pad of paper; i see my father's desk drawer looking back up at me. it even smells the same. 050321
asdfghjkl boobs! 050624
I used to wonder what the hell brought two truculent people such as my mother and father together. I used to wonder if there was something so craven and abhorrent about me that rendered my father and mother from showing me affection, pride tenderness. Every gesture seemed to punitive or rendered under the constrained rubric of parental authority. ...under the prophylactic of parental (*peremptory, authoritarian, dictatorial, professorial, didactic, inculcative blah blah)

Father - The word conjures up for me an image of his bronzed taciturn face. He did everything he could to divert attention from the scots-irish part of his ethnicity. He wore hats to cover his straight hair and dashiki's to detract from his "light" skin. He was so serious, so brilliant so pro-black partly because his mother who married a black man didn't seem too enamoured of his father's race. I remember her calling us, the grandchildren a raical epithat when she must have known we were in earshot. At his funeral she would fall out and shriek and go hysterical look at my light brown face and weeping "oh he looks just like him!"
She tried to bond with me I finally soley on the basis of that resemblance.

nim my father shot himself in the head. He left before I had time to ask him who I was 050805
Stuck_On_With_Pins I have no father 050924
falling_alone my father and i try to hide our emotions
although in very different ways.
he hides sadness and loss behind anger
i hide each behind apathy, so
how can it hurt if you don't care.
when he yells that i go out to much
when he sacastically says leaving already
when he snaps at us we're being too loud at night, he's got to get up early
and when he complains about working on weekends
all he's saying is i love you
i miss you
falling_alone so no one else can see
and no one understands
why my father yells at me
tessa I am so confused. I don't understand. Is it all a tragic series of misunderstandings, lapses in communication and understanding?

What could I possibly do differently?
nom i used to get sorta upset when
people would say i look like my dad
i'd say "no i don't i look like myself"
Gus touches himself infront of young school children! Yeah! 080108
tail-devouring snake You create a world around you where you are the only strong, rational voice, and you just have to wait out the wailing storm of emotional women, until they are exhausted from fighting your logic, and then they do what you have been telling them to do all along. You bully them with your intellect, your persuasive manipulation. You move them closer and away from you like marionettes, you bully with praise and scorn. You bully with self-doubt and you feed with narcissism. You control them like god, you make them love you and fear you. 140310
tail-devouring snake You lie, and you lie, and you lie for my own good. You are not trustworthy. You treat me with more disrespect, as if I am not even human, more than anyone I have ever known, and that includes my rapist. You see me as a problem to fix. An issue to resolve. Irrational emotions to squash and deny. A thing to be controlled. 140310
tail-devouring snake You stand clean and unscathed, while around you everyone is covered in shit. 140312
what's it to you?
who go