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Trash Talking

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Trash Talking

You indicated I don’t listen.
I respectfully disagree.
I hear you.
I just don’t like what you have to say.
Pretending to ignore you takes tremendous effort.
Quick to dismiss
that which emanates from a source
other than your own lips –
and it’s not like you’re the only one who likes to hear himself talk.

Trying to sleep
never should be undertaken.
That’s why we fall asleep.
There’s no effort.
Fall’s inevitable.
There’s a season for everything.
But this one’s 
short lived
and seemingly doesn’t come as often as it used to
before global warming and other major concerns

… thinking about our earlier discussion
makes me wish I lacked lips
and that the cliché about going in 
one ear and out the other was more
literal than figurative.

I figure eventually this noise will
so that trying morphs
to falling
and dreamless sleep supplants
the constant drone of something
terribly wrong. 
Panic attacks that 
or seemingly seem so
prior to this pillow talk –
a case for a better 
containment is key.

It turns out
that my point of entry 
always my biggest nightmare.
Big is such a small word.
I wish it was more attentive
of its status as an anomaly –
just a monosyllabic
monstrosity of awfulness.
A word so tiny
even toddlers
master its annunciation.
From that which is so small.

If I said I forgave you
it would be nothing but a lie
but you would not apologize

So all this talk is trash.
Be the big one. 
Say you’re sorry.

Just refuse for another  
of lackluster
My comfort zone.

I’m sorry.
Yet again.

Copyright © Irene Hammer-McLaughlin

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