The Song that Keeps Playing

April 2015


They say that whenever you have a song stuck in your head, the best way to get it to stop is to listen to it. I disagree, because repetition has a knack for distorting memory, You hear something enough, you start feeling akin to it you hear something enough… you start to believe it.

My one hit wonder plays nightly. It was raining…or I was crying?
I remember holding the steering wheel tightly as his slurring attacks bounced beside me. The song keeps changing every time I try to recall, the place, the tone, I can’t remember what I had done wrong. You bellowed and sung with a disdain so palpable, so strong, The scars in my skin erupted in a million shards of fear the moment we arrived home, you stormed out and I sat in that driver’s seat too overcome by a wave of defeat to move until you tapped on my window and told me to get out.
I was trapped, the wheel already too far from me to take back,
I pleaded, and I cried and I asked you to let me go, to please let me retract
you stood by my window and simply said                              
 No.
I’m sorry…
I shifted gear, hit reverse and what followed next was the perverse sound of your hand crashing down,a thunderbolt of authority and anger crushing my will and standing
You shattered that mirror, pointed at me and uttered a direct threat
 
You’d better not come back

My rearview has never been so slicing.
My muscle memory warns me that my vulnerability
makes violence enticing. I’m sorry… Maybe…
Maybe I’m making it sound worse than it was…
I know we have misunderstandings, miscommunication,
saying things we don’t mean, only adds to the frustration
of not getting our points across, I didn’t want to bother you,
but that song has become my cross.
I’m sorry…
You’re right, nothing happened
I might just be imagining things.
Victimizing myself, maybe I do need thicker skin.
I  repeat this trying to overcome this entangled
web of damage that is my psyche;
I’m sorry, I keep apologizing
I can’t stop listening to that song
I’m sorry that your touch frightened me
I’m sorry  fear overrides me,
I’m sorry if seeing me crying is not something you want,
but I’m not strong enough to see you drunk and not take a step back
I’ve seen how your cruelty knows no boundaries,
and holds a crown in matters that make you feel attacked
I’m sorry, I wish you knew how much I love you
and how much I wish you knew how to love me back.
 
Maybe you do and I don’t know what love looks like?
You’re right, I should stop whining.
 
But I can’t, these words, this song, they plague me,
I don’t know what’s real or what’s left.
Am I speaking too fast?
Emotion is key for valence learning and that damned
 song wont stop it’s tracks

I don’t give a shit about what you’re feeling
 You know better than this.
 You must be on your period.
Stop behaving like a child.
 You know I didn’t mean it.
 
These words are all I hear
the routine of a life well disciplined
I hear and I can’t hold them back
Maybe I’m just too naive.
maybe there’s an insight that I lack.
 
You’re right. It’s my fault.
I’m sorry that my voice is a wavelength of confusion
and stutters and  it’s practically nonexistent
I’m sorry maybe I really am just a cheesy poem of pain and puzzles
maybe I really am spoiled and childish when I’m writing
But I can’t do anything about it
poetry is the only language in which I am consistent
 
You’re right…
I’m sorry I  put you through this.
words have failed to reach me
but  that song plays repeatedly
please stop telling me that I am crazy
I know. I should show better appreciation
for the man who supports this family
 
I’ve been lost so long I can’t tell which way I’ve written
I deserve it. The song is part of my penance.
I’ve never stopped feeling so desperate.
I shouldn’t have spoken…
You’re right  I am nothing but a pile
of stalling rhymes and a broken record so loud
I can’t remember what music sounds like
 
I don’t get to be this conceited.
between you and me, I’m the idiot
That song, my hymn, I can’t shrug it,
why can’t I get it through my head,
I’m the one that broke the mirror
when I tried to escape my choices?
 
My dreams are graded in thoughts of fear and heartache
and prevent me from focusing on anything,
I know I am broken and I’m damaged…
I’m sorry please be patient with me..
I will try and try until I develop a thicker skin
I will do my best not to trigger your anger
I will do my best, and I promise.
 
Even if driving with a broken mirror is not as easy as it seems.
Even if striking -me- this time sounds like I would deserve it.
 
See sometimes they tell you that if you have a song stuck in your head
you should try listening to it.

But when I did, it turned a one hit wonder
into a broken record
of his greatest hits.

Categorías:Diarios, Poesías y Prosas

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