My life

My god, I am so fed up with the eye-rolling when I attempt, succeed or fail.

The inevitable smirk and sudden release of breath from puffed out lips remind me of my younger days when I was dismissed with rapid frequency.

When if it wasn’t for the fact that I could touch myself I wasn’t sure if I existed or not.

And when I was sure I was real I truly believed that this was my lot.

My life.

Miserable, painful days that I thought were over. Not far away but over.

That feeling of uselessness and failure long-gone.

But it was not to be.

I imagined being an older man would bring some relief and freedom from having to prove myself and ‘succeed’ at everything.

But…

I’m still ridiculed for the inability to put up a shelf, paint a door…or even dig out a fishpond.

My quirks and those things that make me, me

are seen and misinterpreted…misunderstood.

To be used against me as accusations of madness and the lack of patience and that final insult

the insecurities and consequence of age.

As if the fire within me is just glowing embers soon to die in a cold night.

To which I suppose there is some truth…

For although I could find within me the ability to love and live again if only for a shorter time.

Where the hell would I go?

My god, I am so fed up with the eye-rolling when I attempt, succeed or fail. The inevitable smirk and sudden release of breath from puffed out lips remind me of my younger days when I was dismissed with rapid frequency. When if it wasn’t for the fact that I could touch myself I wasn’t sure…

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