Don't care what he does,
Who he does it with.
He doesn't care, so why should I?

Once my rage was love.
Once that love was my sould mate.
I thought we could be friends.
But I guess I was wrong.

At his convenience he cares.
I hate him for it.
The person I once loved so much.
Love? I now despise him.

Rude, thinks of no one but himself-
Can't show feelings.
God forbid him to show he may care.
He may be struck by lightning.

Rage against them all-
Everyone who came around when convenient,
Who never really cared,
Who thought I was blind.

When now every time I see you,
I hope you feel the daggers from
My eyes, staring into your heart-
Your empty, cold shell.

I wanna rip your heart out
Crack the skull in half
And fry it like an egg-
The same as you did with mine.

But my heart wasn't an empty, cold shell.
It was warm and giving.
You tore it apart.
You and many more are turning it
Into an empty, cold shell.

Rage against everyone-
All of you who thought you could help me.
Against the "friends"
The ones who said they'd never leave.

Against the "friends"
Who said I could talk to them
If I ever needed anything.

Against the "friends"
Who preached to me about God,
But yet turn their backs on me.

Against the "friends"
Who call for favors
Who call at convenience
Who don't know how to be there for me.

You know who you are.
You who said "I'll always be here."
Then you packed away and left.

You who said "Call if you need to talk,"
Then when I call, you say "Can I call you back?"
...Then never call.

You, the ones that pretended to be my "friends,"
As soon as I walked away, snickered, talked, and laughed.
You are a lie. All of you.

I rage against you all.
I say "Never again."
My dagger is now in your vision.

Don't try to show concern.
My daggers will shoot out more.
I see you and your lie.
Now I rage against you.

Rage with every breath you breathe.
Don't look at me.
Don't talk to me.
Don't mention me.

You will rage, but differently-
Rage with anger
Because I will not take your lies
Anymore.

~~R. Vazquez
1/14/2000

"Pictures"

Looking at the pictures
Of a little girl, about the age of four,
She looked like an angel; innocence in her eyes.
A smile on her face as she holds her new doll.
Love in her heart; not a hard, empty shell.

How is it she managed to hate?
She looks at the picture over and over,
Remembering she has seen it before.
Tears fill her eyes; her father has one like it.
It's larger but the same as the one she holds in her hands.

As she looks at the picture,
She says to her mother, "Daddy has this picture."
As she realizes what was said,
More tears come to her eyes.

She's no longer aware of how she feels inside.
Still sitting on the bed; trembling, her hands cover her face.
Tears start to flow like a quickened stream.
Weakness shows as the tears still flow.
Streaks are left on her face from the tears.

She was ten years old the last time she saw "daddy."
The words "father" or "dad" is what was said.
"Daddy" was no longer a word recognized.

Seeing the picture once again,
She holds it with confusion she can't let go.
Relating herself to the image,
Not sixteen but four once again.

~~R. Vazquez

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