writing

Wound Up

Can’t seem to get anything right these days. Wandering the house as we near midnight. Uneasy at work, never seeming to succeed. When I stand up for myself, I’m aggressive; aka a bitch; or else I’m a damn doormat.

My shoulders and neck are wound up tight. I’m a walking ball of stress. My eyes strain even when closed, always looking left and right, waiting for the next punch, slam or jab.

My confidence is shaken and I am starting to crack. Why the hell couldn’t I just have been a pretty little housewife with two kids?

Oh yeah, not beautiful, so I had to be smart. Barren, so I must be a cold unfeeling wench. But right now, I feel too much, and I feel dumber than I ever have.

What is the lesson I am supposed to learn? Why haven’t I just learned it already? Where do I go from here?

Thoughts while wound up flood my brain as it nears midnight. I know things will be better, if I could shake this headache and get some sleep. But, my mask has slipped and Wonder Woman has left the building.

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