My Voice Is My concern

In the decent pages of my script, I forgot to place pronouns and then misspelt all of the parts going. The groan of despair had me as I heard the sound from my lips, and time has passed, and I am now a passive one, not an active one. Life is about time passing, the shadows falling, and the dark nearing. I did not mean to happen, but it has. Life force and the beckon of light are left, and in their place, there are only shadows.

"You have insanity in the family."

"So what, there is always that to make me sweat, there is nothing the matter with me just yet."

I am playing with them right now, riffling through the oceans of despair, and time lifts me and sparks something, then I fall again, and like a doll can see why I have fallen on bad times. They are coming to get me, Mother, they are coming to find out who I have become, they are coming, and I am interned inside this house, standing still.

No, that does not matter to me. A house does not feel or speak. It does not grieve, it just crumbles.

It echoed my despair; there was a sympathy in it. I was unable to move, and I can’t move out, and I cannot move in.

Life is about taking and being taken, and then someone drops a bomb, and one is stolen. One’s life is a steal for the pretty babes as they party and prettily take everything.

I am then left alone, unable to become a thing.

I did not mean to harm or hurt you, he says. But he was the one who lied and cheated to be with her. Most definitely, he would say, and then what if things had not been so difficult?

Glamour pussies the thing.

Of course, he needed to be with her; lust is the thing he would skip and speak.

He found the woman of his dreams. He disliked the normal and the plain; he just wanted to take it higher and higher. Life had made him so happy. He was on top of the world, the top hat and everything.

I was not much to look at, and they had the gloss, and the thing was, it was the child, their kid. I did not want to interfere and sat down to think.

Life is simple, is it not? If someone is not acting correctly, one finds out the reason, and if the reason is not simple, then one drifts like driftwood.

I wondered where it would take me this flow and there was this eagerness not to waste life and time. But the thing was that I did not want to leave and see the stuff of nightmares as if I were sick and disability had taken its wings.

I had nothing to compare myself to, I did belong in the small kitchen, and it was warm and cosy so I did not want to leap to any conclusion and make a mess of everything. I had become timid.

The timid I became, the more he went to her. She rode, she cycled, she did a number of sports, and she was a success story.

A global celebrity.

In a disaster, celebrities rule the world.

They dislike the normal people and have nothing but themselves on their minds.

If I tried to tell him it was over, he would have tried to come back. It was easier to pretend to be a fool than see him trying not to come to terms with the deceits and the horrid thought that he was in love with her.

Being disabled had made me mature, and I did see that he disliked the thought that he was a cad. He assumed he was nice and easy. What made me laugh and cry at the same time was that there was nothing I could do.

Felt powerless.

I saw it simply as the logical step we must separate without pain, and he would give me pain, so I just went along with this and the other, and he went to her again and again.

In cruel terms, we are no longer an item. I thought it did not occur to me that I was harming anyone. Did not even realize that my siblings had an interest in all of that. Their mindset is all about money and stuff.

In a word, we went our separate ways.

I became disabled.

My siblings wanted to pimp me out.

The house I lived in was not safe.

I was too mean to tell him, so I pretended.

"Oh, I am alright, fine."

“Fond of me, test, but was he in love with me?”

“No, came one day the reply.” It came with a gust of wind as if time had caught up with all the pent-up feelings.

After his marriage ended then it came out. The feelings the hurt, and everything. His wife had been a bigamist; she had married my Dad.

It broke me, and my heart swung towards the inconsequential and the despicable life I had led to be ignored.

My love's wife had married my daddy.

Cute daddy. At the same time, she had been married to him.

There, Dad, I have said it.

As if I had not counted, did not even deserve to be sad, I thought. So, I swung to the opposite extreme. I did not fret; any more time was on my side.

You see, time is about done deeds. And doing and making something, I had not done a thing. Except cooking and making things, and doing nothing but daydreaming. I was a waste of space said siblings.

Time is nothing when one is silly. As everyone was an adult, I was just a nuisance.

"Silly and seriously, is that all?"

"What else can a step-mother do?"

"We now know,"

"No, we don't."

In the home that became my prison. I did no wrong. People came and left, and there was something wrong with me for not allowing them liberties because in this day and age, one is considered indecent and does such things.

I did not find them amusing at first laughed until I went and cried. But the thing was folly to laugh at monsters because they do not understand honesty or love or decency.

My God, she is like a fish. After spawning, she leaves a lavae and then she finds another.

When my time came, I was remarked on and said she was still waiting for that guy. Well, not exactly, for he was always there inside my heart. He never left.

But it was trying to escape this heart of mine.

“Mad she is.”

“Of course, love is a type of madness.”

I had to rename myself. People nowadays think of me as something called an arse. I am not an arse, I am not. I am an artist. They come round with the warrant and the death penalty, giving me the audition, do you want to suckle the wife?

As Freud is to blame for the days we live in, I am now known as this fart. Do not say that. Freud would not speak in such an impolite manner. I mistake, not he would.

I am a glutton for food step-mother is a glutton for everything.

I get up, have breakfast, and then the rest of the day is avoiding doing the sisters in, and the neighbours have it in for me.

The day then became inclement with thoughts of the past, and the present is much more unique. I avoided being sectioned, went to the doctor to get rid of the pains in my chest, and ended up having the sort of nether regions interfered with.

Well, she got it wrong. The chest pains are not connected.

“What ailed you?”

“A persistent cough.”

“I went through two ECGs and then went on Easter break.”

“I am uncertain how it went wrong?” I say, then say ahh.

“B said I had schizophrenia, and then the doctors went a bit weird.”

“Why did she not realize she was condemning me to being sectioned again?”

“Well, she does not like you.”

I am saddened by this, then move on.

“No.” I almost think there is no justice in the world.

“You lived rent-free all your life.” Said B as if her heart was broken.

“I should have paid no rental, yes, but you see I did the labour-intensive jobs.”

“What did you do?” B asked as if humouring me.

“Looked after you all,” I replied and meant it. The whole situation was this: I had paid one way or another, but they did not think so. They asked for more.

“What a success story.” Sneered both siblings.

In comparison to the whole of these monsters, I did nothing. But remember, I am disabled.

“I am unable to do as much as you lot.”

“You should try.”

The widow, like a walking woman, walked towards me with determined, sad eyes. They will kill to exact the price. That B waited while the doctor had her wicked way with me. That there was not much I could do as she put the plastic thing inside me and sat down, munching on that, I had shown signs of recent sexual activity.

Then we said nothing much, just talked about childhood, how everyone must be innocent once. I did not say much more was not about to ask for it.

Went and saw B sat in the chair right outside as if she had offered a bride and had been sitting there while the ceremony was concluded.

B was the other wife of Pa, and she had been wasting her life with him for years. Love and ambition mixed together can produce something like a psycho.

I wished it were dead. The past continues haunting.

That the whole bargain basement thing was dead and rotted. Segments of it come alive, and then she tries to kick and scream; she will not be a girl like she had been; she now looks like a wizard.

Like a sceptre from the past, she sat there, and the feelings of shame and blame came over me. I had not done this to her, had I?

She had become gross, and the whole thing was foreign as if it the from a land of crime. I did not want that she was not the kid I babysat, she was not the same, she was not that little girl I helped save.

To think of one's nearest and dearest.

Why do these things happen to one? Look, one is still at home doing the chores that a house needs doing. I pay with labour and stuff, the things that make me are my ability to do things.

But the friends are still speaking about stuff that they did in their teenage years. They are still in each other's pockets, sharing everything.

Rent free and still this and that.

Blondes will get the money, and the darks will get the pain. The sex toys have it all.

Juliet's balcony and the box up me. I am the woman in the attic. Squashed to death with the wit taken from me. I am no longer the life and soul; I have fled because I feel she is feeding on me.

With my parts all playing against each other. I am doing the last dance.

Where are morals in an amoral world?

They dislike me having things.

How much better it will look on someone we love.”

In England, there is nothing but lust. We lust for the male or female. Then we get them and find something else to do.

She is now my stepmother.

Stepmother, but then she is a celebrity. They go from room to room and have no morals but romantic ones.

Since her divorce, she has married alternately and stayed married to Dad. She did not divorce her dad.

I can see you all smiling at me, but do you see?

Think about what I did say, I am not going to ogle the ogre twice to speak about the unjustness of life. When a sister comes out and tries to kill and rob me of the inheritance, and then says quite shamelessly, she will visit me forever. I am justly worried.

My family is so weird.

Politely weird.

"I found a group like me," said B and "and I feel like a normal person because of it."

We had been watching a necrophilic film, and I got worried.

I was a waste of space.

One thing led to another, and I became this monster, spoiling the parties.

What, not her again?

Engaging behavior is not enough.

They all work hard to make me. My sister is there as the offensive weapon; they settle with me by sending her over to collect. From physical abuse to sneers and side laughs, I am odd, they say.

"But who is odd?"

“It is about loving one’s group.” Sighs Z as if the world has found out with her the rights of women. The right to be anything she has to be.

“Look, but is it?”

“I am a woman with needs.” She speaks.

“In England, this happens. I have seen it, known it, and this is a special treat.”

“Done when?”

“Only when I want to.”

The group is justifying itself, and I thank them for this. The whole issue is a tissue of lies.

What happens in their bedroom should stay there. But it is expensive to have all that. It is indeed. I try not to become ashamed.

Kinky?

“Hang it, I have needs.” Shouts Z and moves out of reach.

Well, my dear, shove it wherever.

“These are the new rules: do not deny yourself.”

There are no rules.

Make them rules to take whatever.

Good idea.

“We have the law on our side; we work.”

I am confused; they have brilliant rhetoric.

Life is about taking a bite here and a bite there. That is when I am not speaking but screaming, but Daddy married her, and then the boyfriend is involved with this woman.

We love them dearly.

“We are the sirens, we are the fools, we are now the bewitching girls.”

“Where is the family”?

“Do you work?”

“No,”

"So no say,"

“Does it not make you feel ashamed?”

“Sure.”

I go to seek work, she says, they can do it better.

The trouble is, they can. I am so ugly.

She is now chasing her wives to mark me down and do as I am told.

The jellies are coming?