My Mommy's Breaking Down (this was when mom and I were on a plane back from Europe and she cried because I told her not to talk so loud because she’ll sound like an idiot.)
I can put on my headphones and hide. I can escape from these ever-numbing seats and the deafening roar. I can see you pouting. I can see you crying. I can see you wipe your eyes and burrow for a napkin. I try to talk to you, but you won’t let me.
I’ve done something terribly wrong. I can see it in your eyes. Your bloodshot eyes say we hate you. You think you’re a big dumb idiot to us. “No,” I rebuke and touch your shoulder. I feel a bulge in my stomach and my throat gets tight. My clammy hands are no consolation as I clasp them tightly.
I start to cry. We’re a pair of crybabies, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the people around us. I just can’t deal with any of it.
I wonder why you can’t swallow your tears, like I do for you.
I cross my legs nervously as you swear it’s only you. You’re the bizarre one. I’m still here, even if it’s only your problem. I’m still stuck here watching you cry. It’s become my problem.
I wish I could leave. I wish I could escape.
So I put on my headphones and let you suffer. I don’t want to be cruel, but you won’t let me help. “Fuck you,” I think “Fuck you for putting me in this situation.” I want to punish you. I want to make you suffer.
You started this. Don’t even try to pass me the blame.
You say we’re the only ones who ever made you cry like this. You’ve made me cry many a time. I’m crying now. So fuck this. Fuck this situation. Fuck this brain and fuck these thoughts.
I close my eyes, not wanting to wake, but I will just to spite you.
