Baby Talk.

I haven't talked to you in days, and in complete honesty, I haven't noticed until yesterday.

The smell of you found my nostrils somehow today and I remembered your face, your hair, your speech.  I remembered your tired look.  That tired look seems to be constant.
You don't call me because it is my responsibility to call you.
This relationship is uncharted in reality.  How do you work this through.  I can't always do it.
You fall back burner to my life, and I am ok with this.
I am ok to not hear your voice droning on about things that only involve you.  I am very selfish.  But I got it from you and your human condition, too.  You're supposed to be better at life with your coming of age and experience.  You're supposed to know things that are gems and nuggets of gold.  This isn't high school.  You're not in high school anymore.  Why do I have to be the adult.  Why do you have to act like a child on a constant stage of forgetfulness.
I'd think that you smoked more pot than anyone I know, but you just think on little other than yourself.

You are your own rainbow.


Where is the art in that.



I look in the mirror and wrestle with my bone structure.  I struggle with my eyes.  I struggle with any resemblance to you because I don't know if I like it or not.  I don't know if I accept well where I came in a physical way.  I want to love what God made, but I don't approve of your actions.

Grow up.

You'd think that your training underwear would get old like you, but you're still forgetting to go to the bathroom on your own.
Gee wizz, you femme bot.  Put your mojo away and mother your children.  It is ridiculous.




I want to feel proud in being yours.
I am not proud to be yours.
Why did you not try and give me a reason.
Why are you chasing after empty dreams.
Why aren't you dreaming new things.
Why can't you.

I'm just frustrated with your baby talk.