Gruß Vom Krampus

i don't like letting myself show what hurts.
sure, i write and talk about what's going on.
that's real life documentarianism.
but the painful parts....
i really don't like 'em. nope.
no, not at all.
the feeling that i've left myself exposed and therefore vulnerable
to renewed pain or jagged feelings from the events or words or thoughts
that dismantle my very fragile maintained day-to-day
is not a comfort.
in fact, it causes even more anxious tension....
because i always want to reel back that exposed raw truth,
and hide it away and box it up and bury it in the ground.
nobody gets it out of me like that redheaded fireball.
nobody sees it clearer.
and nobody knows how bad it hurts as well as she does.
i got four cornerstones of my life at odds,
and yet somehow,
she's holding down the fort on her end as if it was as natural as breathing.
meanwhile, i'm crying out of my actual eyes,
and doing what i can to choke it all back inside,
just so we can casually discuss adult life together.
and that kind of gentleness is what lures out all the big fat stupid hurt
and anguish that i languish in and lavish on my innate sense of inadequacy.
i've been beating myself up a lot these days.
i think that's maybe good?
i mean, growth and change are supposed to be uncomfortable.
so, on krampusnacht, i let santa's secret assistant,
that ol' black goat-demon,
suss out my weakness, and really hand out a full-inventory of
assessed inefficacy all about my negative self-talkin' self,
and then go right ahead and kick my A* right off.
i had a beautiful time the other day.
i'm editing all the details,
but it felt good to be there;
never quiet, never soft.....