I’m bitter,

The feeling stacks itself inside me, like workers stack items on a shelf.

It stacks so much that it threatens to topple over.

But it doesn’t. It wobbles and then stays still.

Day by day, it gets sold.

Not by what’s inside, no. Who would want it if they knew what it really was?

No one. So it gets sold by jokes and by a silly grin.

Those who purchase it, don’t know what’s inside.

They won’t open it, the cover is too pretty to damage.

I’m filled with anger.

Like layers on a cake, each sentence adding a new layer.

“You never do anything.” Layer one.

“I asked you to do one thing, you couldn’t even do that.” Layer two.

“You need to be more responsible.” Layer three.

“I thought I could count on you.” Layer four.

“You’re useless.” Layer five.

They layers add on, but you need to add icing and decorations, don’t you?

“You’re just making excuses.” Deep red vanilla icing.

“Why can’t you do what you’re expected to?” black decorations.

It all repeats itself, but in different flavors, different decorations and colors.

I’m numb with underlying hate.

How blind are they to spit phrases carelessly?

Violating my ears with sentences that inflict pain.

They don’t see that what I do, I do my best.

I do everything that is asked. Not to perfection, I guess.

I’m not “super” anything, I’ve never tried to be.

They don’t appreciate it, they don’t even see.

To vent, I grab my pen, here I am.

Do you see the bitterness welling up inside me?