Becky The Bitter Old Tool

I have accepted lately that my expectations are

Maybe a bit too high

For people,

For life,

For myself

Even for the cats, to be honest.

I’ve been wondering if all of this

Blind, ruthless ambition

For a better life

Is in fact

Ruining the one I’m currently living

Instead of

You know

Propelling me towards a goal

I’m not sure what the goal is even

I just know I gotta work towards it

To be honest?

I just wanna kick it

With everyone

Forever. No expectations

Ah, but that’s a lie

I have a lot of expectations

I just hate having to say them out loud

I wish people could just

Read my mind

And anticipate my needs

You know, like

All the people on tv.

I expect life to be scripted,

I suppose. I want the most out of

Everything and I want to win by a

Landslide, not even close.

Oh gosh, maybe I’m

A little queer baby dyke trump

Or maybe I’m just

A fierce warrior who’s been

Lost for about

26 years.

I’ll get there, maybe

In the meantime I’m here

Stuck on a thousand foot pile

Of disappointment, cumulative over the years

I wish I wasn’t so bitter,

Maybe then things would

Taste sweeter

Alas, my expectations were destroyed

My fears confirmed

All people are

Phony and

Friends are for idiots who

Don’t mind being used

I mind, by the way

I mind being used

I guess that makes me

An asshole of a tool

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