Why in the Hell?

I got stuck.  Somehow it is like my foot got caught on a sticker and I couldn’t pull it out.

I danced around and bent over and used tweezers and said all kinds of bad things and nothing worked.

The more I fought it the deeper the   damned thing seemed to push itself in.

And then I got angry: So angry that I ugly cried.

And somewhere in my ugly tears I think I shook it loose.  I’m not sure,  yet.  But maybe.

For all I know it is going to make a reappearance and fuck up my life again, no matter how angry I get.

And you know what?  That makes me angry.  It really pisses me off.

So all I can do is  ask what it the Hell is going on with me and the stickers?

Why in the Hell do I step in them every single time??

How do other people glide over them and not seem to be injured at all?

What in Hell does it mean that my path takes me through the same patch every damned time?

I would have thought I could have built a tougher skin, some resistance for once.

But how in the Hell does it happen every fucking time?

I try to smile.

I keep my chin up.

I am patient as I hop around on one foot ,the other bleeding and torn, “I’m fine.”

No. Not really.

Not  even angry, not really.

But it helps. Because the anger burns me like a fever and helps me find the handholds of my way back up from the little patch of pricks I seem to have fallen on to.

But really?  What the Hell?

And why do I climb and dance around?

It’s You.  It’s always, always You.

I will never stop getting up, full of holes, pricked, sticked and angry as hell,

because of You.

And you know what?

I may never know why in the Hell I have to fall, but I do know where I learned to climb out again.

Thank you, Mama, for letting me see the anger that kept you burning, and  for showing me the handholds.