At the risk of looking like a horrible person, I am publishing this neurotic poem for Jenny Matlock’s Alphabe-Thursday. Please keep in mind that this was written as a way to vent frustrated feelings. You’ll have to visit elsewhere for a Nice N post.
Wearing my neurosis like a badge,
a blazing scarlet letter on my breast,
I rant and rave and rage for the world to see.
Who cares about decorum, and
who cares about quiet and civility?
I’m the insensitive one that makes my mother cry
and my nephews uncomfortable
because I suggest we do what’s in
her best interest rather than kiss her butt;
upset her with foreclosure and wills,
but how dare we suggest her sister be
responsible for cleaning up her messes!
Let’s lay that responsibility on her mother and son
because she’s afraid her dad, the one who’s bankrolling
her overdue bills, will find out how much she owes.
Her lying husband has no insurance on her,
but how is that a surprise to anyone with a rational brain?
Her boyfriend having a hip replacement tomorrow,
yet she argues she lives where his home is
rather than where her family can care for her.
A lifetime of being the center of attention,
she’s the perfect patient to dote upon all the care.
Just wait until she gets her Facebook so she can
devour sympathies of the entire world wide web
because we know it’s all about her.