Who Cares if you disagree?

…the only thing that remains the same is hate

The question on viewers minds?
How can you write about such personal stuff?
The number one answer in Franklin, New Hampshire today…
It isn’t real! Smoke and mirrors! This and that. And, honestly, talking about sex, money, politics and/or religion really is just old news…second hand news and rechewed bullshit!

Today, in mental confession though, thoughts from the heart:

My father should die with this saying stamped in indian ink across his part Cherokee ass:
Would you rather be right or happy?
As a child, we all long to be, the next president of the United States, an astronaut, Cher and/or Barbra Streisand. Some even dreamed the mission impossible dream of being like their father.
I often had been told this horrible ghost story, it seemed so real, I ran from it via the bottle and blotter daily:
You are just like your father!
Better yet:
You are a spoiled brat…a daddy’s girl.

Fuck that and the horse the dysfunctional unit came in on.
This I know to be true:
Writers write to find truth. Writers write to discover their childhood again. Poets dream in order to make sense of their nightmares. Poets hide away in the light of day for the night-time brings safety.
I remember once a pushing match between father and daughter. Black hatred and white peace. Fists pushing into one another. Stair’s lingering eerily below. Making the drop from reality seem not so far out of reach. The pushing never seised and the hiding game began.
Behind ancient stone walls in Canterbury not full of tales, New Hampshire. Sliding off out into the darkness ten speeds away…as fast and as far as my legs could pump.
Years later the elite that didn’t get a family makeover reascend into the darkness. Pulling out the plug from the jug and easing the pain with just one more…I drink alone.
I never received that many punches in my father’s bag of punch lines. Yet, the joke would always be on me. I had waited 46 years for a hit, hook, line and sinker…yet, the emotional ravaging of my soul had been what took its toll.

I ain’t no fortunate one..

Today, I came upon a room that I had not opened in many a sober years. It had laid dormant behind my chips of plenty and my rented room of resentments.
The room seemed fresh but old. Borrowed and very blue. It held a man so small he almost seemed a ghost. A whisper of the past. He sat in a woolen and wooden expensive chair. A sitting device that showed the importance he felt for himself.
I watched from afar…as only a visitor to this planet would. I shivered with fear and disgust. I spoke my handmade Serenity Prayer. A mantra. A savior of words to my condemned to dysfunction soul.
What words were spoken needn’t matter. They rang out in literal stabs at the universe, wrong, bad, lazy, bitch, fuck and so on.
Usually a strong person I felt as though the earth that I had built on hope and spirit and love and believe…was just another episode in the Twlight Zone.
Honest light and traveled tunnels filled the room and soon I would be that little girl again.
Touch by an angel? Brought back into the spiritual light?
Shit, no!
I went ouside and weed wacked the shit out of my father’s stole it from the ocean…wild Rose bush…the bush he had had for as long as I can remember him being an asshole.

Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the tableWhile I look outsideSo many things I’d say if only I were ableBut I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by
You’ve got opinions, man

We’re all entitled to ‘em

But I never asked
So let me thank you for your time.  And try not to waste any more of mine

Get out of here fast
I hate to break it to you babe.   But I’m not drowning.  There’s no one here to save.

Who cares if you disagree? You are not  me.

Who made you king of  anything?  So, you dare tell me who  to be.  Who died and made you king of  anything?
You sound so  innocent.  All full of good  intent.

Swear you know  best
But you expect me  to Jump up onboard with  you.  Ride off into your  delusional sunset!

I’m not the one who’s lost With no direction, oh…But you’ll never see!
You’re  so busy making maps.  With my name on  it in all caps!

You’ve got the  talking down Just not the  listening.
Who cares if you  disagree? You are not me…Who made  you king of anything?

What are these voices outside love’s open door
Make us throw off our contentment
And beg for something more?

So you  dare tell me who to be!  Who  died and made you king of anything?
All my life I’ve tried

To make everybody happy while I just hurt  and hide.  Waiting for someone to  tell me it’s my turn  to  decide.
Who cares if you  disagree? You are not me.  Who made  you king of anything?  So you dare  tell me who to be.

Who died and made  you king of anything?

SARA BAREILLES – KING OF ANYTHING LYRICS

…let me hold your crown Babe!