Rachel Weiss at thirty nine

When Rachel Weiss turned thirty eight, she stood in front of her mirror
before going on yet another internet date. She admired that some of her youth
still remained, her hair- at worst was mostly tamed. Her apparent lack of
traditional things like the absence of children, the lover-man, and wedding rings
only torments her when she's home with her family, friends or pretty much
anywhere that kind of logic ends.

No, it won't upset me, I am single, I am free to do what I want and be who I want
to be, nothing else is as important as this.

When Rachel Weiss finally got her cake, the date was just another in a string of
minor disasters, another mistake, another risk not to take. I will sit here alone
next to my cellphone, holding my plate, eating the frosting first, denying the
desperate need to not browse back to the fishing hole of romance. I am not
into that kind of haphazard chance, I will not make another "Disney - I wish!"
There may be plenty of fish in the dating sea, but right now there is nothing
but frustration for one such as me.

No, it won't upset me, I am single, I feel fine, now change the subject while
holding my glass out for a new kind of wine.

When Rachel Weiss realized she was about to turn to thirty nine she did not go
on another blind date, she did not even hope to consummate or make herself find
some other way to validate her status as a single woman. I will stay home, I can
binge watch Netflix and eat Chex and be happy without the promise of sex. She gave
this up by a quarter to six, and went back to the usual game, it's never the same
I wonder if I will see old whatshisname? What am I doing with my life, this isn't
how you become some body's wife,

No, it won't upset me, I am my own person, everything is fine, I just have no one
to call, I talk but no one is on the other line.

When Rachel Weiss was thirty nine, forty was no longer as scary as it was at thirty
eight,  I feel fine, it's not how old you are that should define your own sense of wonder,
it's not how much Ikea you can buy at Bed, Bath and Beyond-er. I can like what and who
I want to like, I am happy with being alone, in spite of what my married siblings think, it's
not what you all think, no it hasn't made me desperate enough to drink, yes I will
probably die an old maid, no burning out, just a slow fade away, no more gold, no
hope of a lucky strike. She was committed to this course of action and then she met
Mike.

Yes, that's butterflies and yes I can't feel my feet, when he kisses me, he makes me
feel all Jerry Maguire kind of complete.

Tirades

ti·rade
ˈtīˌrād/Submit
noun
a long, angry speech of criticism or accusation.
"a tirade of abuse"
synonyms: diatribe, harangue, rant, onslaught, attack, polemic, denunciation, broadside, fulmination, condemnation, censure, invective, criticism, tongue-lashing

Example:

"This is my diatribe of nomenclature, you could just say that it is in my nature
to argue, find a segue and stop all activity to make a snide comment in order
to cross a line or breach a border, so I can annoy you and thus get a chance
to crush the circumstance to prove myself worthy or at least true. True to what, you might say, no you will say it anyway. You will just start to rant, like an imbecile on wordy crack attempting to sound educated but then again you can't articulate or get a date or even demonstrate your points to us, don't just give up or cuss. Consider this my fight song because I might have been bullied since I don't belong midst the maddening throng, I will retaliate at any rate to enunciate the my POV, you just wait and see! This is my tongue-lashing the syllables on your lack of principles since you seem to run on chemicals like coffee and cream, more that it all seems to be nice and clean, since I can disagree with a brick wall on the time of day, no that it not all I have got to say.
This is the criticism of the world's inability to understand a witticism, social media is not wikipedia, the facts get blurred with the misdirections of people's recall or lack or perception. Was the dress blue or was it gold, so I have been told that it was both and the same, just like a game for fools, the evidence is not in the details, the reminder of which lurks in the added sense that everyone fails- to appreciate that all I am doing is to retaliate at the fact that I said this one thing that ended up under assault as if I could be bullied or bought for being able to think my own thought about whether the weather is cold and fraught with worries over the political onslaught. Now I am caught, in my own lack of irony, the circumstances of which is paragon in the paradox that I cannot find matching socks or the condemnation of freedom to be whatever I want to be, no one will see that it's not what I want or what you think that has brought us here like horses refusing to drink from the well of salvation, the denial of the sate of the nation, it's not ironic, it is just another situation where my imagination ran rampant all ad hoc, run amok, a raging rampage of words and meanings galore, and what is so much more than the innuendos I am making, my point is now just burnt out fading away like the dusk of day, I have sinned and prayed as I make this my tirade. 

Folding Anxiety

Crumpled, smashed, basically miserably trashed

sad, sadly mistaken, tragically forbidden to 

unfold from the compression of emotion 

statically frozen in between the nightmares

and

 sleep, the unrelenting proteins of insane dreams

the corners of white rooms, the unforgiving, unheard

screams, the past withheld, the last time I smiled

and felt the warmth over the prevailing chills

of winter, the snows in social contexts

and

the rejection of living, understanding, denial of context

sympathy flows out like oxygen escaping into the vacuum 

between what once was acceptable now unspeakably

false bending around the atomic genetic

response to pain, now I will write the refrain

it's all in your brain,

it's just in your brain,

it's just in your brain in your head

just as bad as wishing you were

dead,

Instead of being locked into your thoughts

collapse into the fear, surrender to the pointlessness

of the straggling sheets that bind you into your bed.

just unravel where it all began where it could end

fold it like a comic strip from the ugly paper

away into the pocket

of your sanity

let us pretend

we're fine, after all that's easier to defend

to everyone else than the truth that we cannot say

what all that was other then the seconds

it took or all day I needed to

make the first crease

to make folding the anxiety to cease.