Walk Away

I’m tired. Tired of myself. Tired of my mind. Tired of the constant swirl of voices. I’m tired of being told my way of thinking is wrong. You think I don’t know?? Oh, I know. Believe me.

I spend my hours thinking, thinking, thinking. I’m remembering, tallying up all the things he said and did. And nowadays, with the clarity that only time and thought can bring, I see he wasn’t that far off-base.

I’m remembering why I made those decisions, what chain of events and thought brought me to the place where we became me. And how selfish is that, honestly? Then I’m remembering him and his pretty words and my heart crushed over and over and over and the I love you’s and fuck you’s so entwined that looking back I’m not sure I can separate them anymore. How he said I was worth so much more than all that but when push came to shove, I really wasn’t, was I?

Oh yes, I’m thinking. And I know. I know you think I should stop thinking. But how can I? When all day I’m thinking about you and all night I’m dreaming about you and hidden behind the layers of thought and dreams are all those memories.

Memories of believing well-crafted words and the side-long glances and the glistening skin of impromptu passion. I’m tired. I want to run from myself more than any other thing. I need to start over.

Leave everything… and I do mean everything behind. Change my name. Lose the phone. Shut this all down. End it all. What do you think about that? Still think your heart would seek out and find mine again? Or would you wash your hands and be free? Good riddance from the never-ending heartache of compulsive thought and moodiness.

You know me. I’m always gonna be real. I’m not ever going to be one of those make-up wearing, eyelash-curling, trendy-dressing, high-pitched giggling, threesome cock-sucking fake Barbies. I’ll keep walking barefoot in the snow and not brushing my hair for days and cooking meals for strangers, failing as a parent and a would-be lover and poet, forgetting to eat some days, so consumed am I with thought and memories and possible futures. Analyzing and calculating.

It’s the ultimate selfish expression, so wrapped in my own head I can’t reach out a hand to others. I’m fucking tired. How you say I’m wrong in my thinking, my so-called logic, my hesitancy and fear, my passion burns deep for you, yeah? but perhaps if I’m so fucking wrong all the time, maybe you should. Yeah. Maybe you should delete me from your contacts and turn away for good.

I’m standing here, eyes closed, face turned up, waiting for the slap. Do it. Do it fast and hard and then let me watch your retreating back through tears you don’t need to see.

tara caribou | ©2019

29 Comments on “Walk Away

  1. You are too real. Way too real in your thoughts. It is as if someone has a TV-screen hooked up to you, and we are sitting in the crowd waiting for the next episode. I’d bring the popcorn, but I’m afraid, I’ll drop the box when you look at me sitting there, on my hands, not knowing what to say….kind of like now…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I like this style of writing, this stream of consciousness, poetic prose. At times hard to take – but then honest openess can be – but cleansing and cathartic in equal measure too. Plus you write it so well and I can feel you in every phrase. And, after all, who is qualified to judge the rightness or wrongness of our thoughts and actions.
    I’m going to read this again now!

    Liked by 1 person

    • That’s great Chris! I’ll be posting this style all week so you’re in for some scathing self-centeredness.

      But the thing is, yes, it’s absolutely cathartic. There’s just something about letting go and allowing all the thoughts, misplaced or not, to flow from mind to paper. And thanks so much for the comments and for reading these words.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Tara, I always love reading your work, i can always feel your heart within it. This is no exception.

    “I love you’s and fuck you’s so entwined that looking back I’m not sure I can separate them anymore.”
    There’s something about this that really gets me.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I recommend 40gram of alprazolam… although maybe I mean 4grams… maybe you should check that dosage first…

    Liked by 1 person

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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