I’m mad.

I’m pissed.

I’m fucking doing something wrong.

Or maybe you are.

I wouldn’t know.

It’s not like you’d tell me.

Or if you did,

Who knows how much time would have passed.

And again.

I sit.

And I wait.

Do you know how often I pen that?

All the damn time.

“Sit.”

“”Wait.”

Maybe one day,

I’ll write stand and go instead.

But at this point,

I’m gonna be writing it again and again.

“Sit.”

“Wait.”

Maybe I’ll read a book while I wait.

Maybe I could swing my legs while I sit.

I doesn’t matter, it’s the same thing.