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The truth about this Christmas

My mom's tree... 

Typically, the holidays are the time of year I look forward to when it comes to being with family and "at home."  This year is different. Not because I don't want to be in Portsmouth and spend my day in and out of Cavalier Manor, but because I'm not feeling like I have anything to contribute to the people and the places I've gotten so much from.  They don't care... I know this. They just want to see my face and catch one of my rare genuine smiles or laughs.  I just feel as if that person is only around in fleeting moments.  He doesn't come to the surface unless all is clear and there's no one who will remind him of all the things he didn't do correctly in life. Going home would probably fix a lot of the anxiety I have about adjusting to life away from the only place I've ever known (honestly). But, once again, I would also have anxiety about being a 31 year old man in his hometown who has to get rides to and from everywhere, eat at others generosity, and even get my drugs either on credit or through a favor of a young lady here or there who loves me enough to support my habit rather than see me become increasingly irritable and unpleasant. I want to go home and celebrate being MARRIED, but of course, I'm gay so that conversation still can't be had even though this nigga been with me to weddings and funerals and shit for five fucking years, all because certain people believe in God and all that BULLSHIT. (Yeah, I said that. And I'm 'bout to go deeper into that later. Just wait.) So I've been thinking about just staying here. But I don't want to rob him of the opportunity to have a break from working so hard and to see his family. I don't like going home and not really having shit to talk about. I mean, I work sporadically... helping someone in appliance repair when there's work, and assisting an entrepreneur in starting a new venture on a per-assignment basis.  For a convicted felon (by the way, there's two of them and one is considered a violent offense), that's good. And the fact that I'm "intelligent" seems not to really be a bargaining chip in life anymore, because "felon" outweighs "graduate."  So, there's never as much to talk about over dinner or drinks, and there's only so many "remember when's" I'm going to be able to tolerate from people in our 30's.  We don't even really do gifts in my family anymore, simply because we weren't allowed to believe in Santa Claus for longer than common sense would allow, but I still want to be able to come home something as a gift that I didn't buy with a damn EBT card. It's not about the commercialism that Christmas has become, it's more about my inability to have a choice of whether or not I want to give something to show my love and appreciation.  When I was in high school, I would think about where I'd be when I was the age I am now. And it makes me furious to look a myself and admit that I've done nothing that I once had planned for myself. No. I take that back. I've accomplished two things. I have graduated from college and I've gotten married. Subsequently, those are the two things that I've seemingly either lost the right to claim or don't yet have the right to claim. Ain't that a bitch!? Sometimes the only retreat from the endless onslaught of negative thoughts and wild emotion is either laying on the couch with the hubby or listening to some Beyonce (yeah, I'm one of those people).  Aside from those instances, my days and nights are spent in constant defense-mode. I don't even take naps because I don't want to be caught off guard.  What I'm waiting to happen, not sure, but I'm just on alert. Or at least that's what my head feels like. And let me tell you, the shit is exhausting. I don't think it's normal, but to fix it I have to do normal people things, like waiting 45 minutes for an appointment you were 15 minutes early to. So, you can see how my daily routines and situations can be a bit of an off color topic during holiday dinner with your family.

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"Better You Than Me"

"Better You Than Me"

Maybe you can help me better understand
Why you act like a little boy and not a grown ass man
You try to run the TV, all day stuck on BOUNCE
And you're a fiend for the coffee, always begging for an ounce
You've claimed more than once all you do is "get money"
But I see you in here with nothing, so something is funny
At the top of your lungs you holler and yell
But make an excuse for your behavior, saying "This is jail."
You've got 6 kids, and 4 baby mamas
But you beg me for a click so you can call and cause drama.
You claim to be hard, snatching ass every day
But you expect me to be polite in all that I say
You're on your way back to prison and it's so sad to see
But I'd rather it be you going up the road than me.