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Knotted Hate 2010

Janet Kuypers
(poetry converted to prose)

    I can’t see my dying friend because his relative, fat rich bitch calls me selfish because I wouldn’t instantaneously give away what money I don’t have to his employed wife. how selfish of me, The one without a job trying to keep myself out of debt.
    okay, girl you can’t tell her how wrong she is and you can’t tell her how she is truly the self-centered one so knot up the hate add it to that tight little ball that’s been growing inside you all these years. you remember what it’s like: you didn’t want to know the names of the people who hit your car when you were stopped at an intersection, when you were doing nothing wrong but being a sitting duck and were almost killed... waiting for that final shot from the hunter, looking for his final kill.
    you know people will listen right after you’re attacked by an ex-gang member... but when you’re underlyingly taught that things like sexual abuse are your fault, well, that’s when you have to add more emotion to the knot.
    that ball of hate has been growing since that acquaintance rapist ex of yours made your hate flourish with more phone calls, cards, letters, even recorded audio. his stare scared you and you feared the tears if you saw him in the distance on the street. you swallow your tears and stifle your hatred when even the thought of him instigated the constant pain and the medical clinic for round number one of body-harming medications, since the American solution to solving all health problems is popping a pill...
    but girl, you know you’ve dealt with this your whole life because your fifties-styled family was probably just like every other family: with a nice-looking exterior and well-mannered children in public, because children couldn’t show their feelings, their resentment or their hatred from their constant emotional battles without consequence.
    you poor thing. you’ve been working for all these years on that knot of hate. it’s been growing quite steadily you have a permanent place inside you for it
    you’ve been trained well to not let people see what’s wrong, to not let people see your hatred, because that would be improper.
    you can’t let anyone else feel what you feel. you can do this yourself. take it all in like the proper fifties housewife you’ve been trained to be.
    keep that knotted hate as that perfect circle. don’t let any of it out, and don’t worry about it’s effect on you... I’m sure there’s a drug out there that will numb you into not caring anymore.




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Chicago poet Janet Kuypers
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