I often second guess myself when it comes to my emotional reactions.

I learned at a critical age, that I was too emotional.

Too vocal, too whiny, too sad.

Up until that point, I thought it was my super power.

Deeply feeling everything— understanding myself and letting everything in.

I had no security.

Flash forward, and those bones have healed incorrectly.

I go to a doctor to get my bones reset.

During the healing process I am tested in the drive-thru.

when someone cuts in front of me, when I was just following the rules.

We yell and I honk repeatedly

I am angry.

I was following the rules of the drive-thru— not to block the intersection.

They leave, and I replay the situation over and over.

Was I wrong? I was too aggressive. I should have let it go.

The temptation to ask my sister if I overreacted is dangling in front of me,

like a 100 dollar bill.

But I don't.

I check in with myself.

Feeling confident in my reaction and how I handled the situation.

Then I hear a car behind me, mentioning how it was loud.

the person in the restaurant agrees, saying

They could hear it inside.

My confidence dissolves into a puddle, and I am embarrassed.

I decide to apologize to the people in the restaurant when I get to the window.

I am prepared to pay and be punished for my crime,

when I surprised by the car behind me.

They paid for me.

They felt bad for what happened and paid for me,

and I feel validated.

2 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

the first time I ever tried bittersweet chocolate.

I was soulmates with chocolate. Eating the rich dark brown sweet until my stomach became angry with me. One afternoon my father was baking a chocolate soufflé that required bittersweet chocolate. I ha


It's been so long since I've laughed, I have forgotten how. My cat is a toddler playing with his toy learning how his body works. I laugh at his clumsiness and worry I am taking up too much space. B


The nights haunt me. Every other night is a horror movie, with me trying to be the final girl to survive in the end. I wouldn't call them dreams, but they aren't nightmares either, They are slightly a

©2019 by Chaotically Small Poetry. Proudly created with