Since it's my last day I might as well tell them what I think of them.
Why shouldn't I.
There's this fucker.
Shouting good morning before I have my cup of coffee.
Who likes to be shouted at in the morning, no matter how cheery they think they are?
Then there's this bitch.
Two faced.
Making everything more complicated in an attempt that others will think you're working.
Your constant gossip which only makes you look like the bitch you are.
This asshole.
Why are you wearing a sock hat when it's over ninety degrees on The Floor.
What. Is. Wrong. With. You.
Oh boy.
Here comes Tub of Guts.
Not even making eye contact with me.
Avoiding me.
He knows I caught him in a lie.
He knows he was wrong.
Groan.
Is that ass hat over there yelling again?
No one cares that you yelled at your little girl’s school teacher.
No one cares about that supposed dog that attacked you.
But I care you talked about me and my ex.
You feel sorry for me?
That I had a transgender ex?
If you want to feel sorry for me,
Be sad they took everything from me and convinced me that I was worthless.
Their gender gives two fucks to me.
Go fuck yourself asshat.
Oh God.
Here comes Mr. Dick.
He is just one walking penis.
His bald head and his too pink skin.
Just go away.
I don't want to hear your condescending message.
Oh please.
No.
Not you.
Turn around.
Alright.
All the fuckwits seem to have crawled back into their dark, depressing holes.
My hiking buddy is here.
Despite being overseas,
malaria,
wife cheating on him,
and who knows what other unjust experiences were forced onto him,
he smiles at me.
He helps me and listens to me bitch about asshat.
The immigrant.
He could talk in his native language all day and it would just make my heart flutter more.
His wife, what a lucky woman.
My boss.
I admire home more than I care to admit.
I bought the same car as his.
Mustache man.
He isn't as vanilla as he makes himself out to be.
I know the truth.
I like it.
Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to tell them what I think.
YOU ARE READING
Colors of My Mind
PoetryI wrote these poems during the darkest time of my life. Writing is what got me out of my crippling depression. -Piece is not fully posted- Regularly updated. There is mention of: sex, self harm, self loathing, drinking. Foul language. * I do not s...
