Day #28, There isn't a "frustrated with life" poetry form is there?

We'll skip the formatting and let me just try to put my thoughts into prose. And for my more thoughtful friends, don't try to read theology or lack of it into this, I'm well aware of the ironies here.

Ode to Life

Dear Life,

I'd tell you to

"bring it on"

but dang it if you 

wouldn't do just that.

And I don't like

what you bring 
"on" some days.

I'd tell you to

make me younger,

a redo please.

But you would

laugh at me

because when

I'm eighty one,

I'll think forty one

was young.

Forty pounds is all 

perspective, I suppose 

you would want to 

point that out too.

And I would tell

you to quit it, 
simplify,

spare me the 
complexities.

Make my kids obedient

and give my husband

understanding, 
matter of fact,

make him think 
just like me,

so long as he

doesn't act 
like me.

Okay?

Life, you've had

your good times

but I resent 
your wicked,

tacky sense 
of humor.

You think you are

a clever genius,

I think you are

a mad scientist.

Who lets two people

fall in love when they

can't agree on paint colors?

Who does that?

And who, WHO

made a kids cheeks

so round and 

his behind so stinky 

at the same time?

And what is up with

credit cards and

politicians, 

death, 
grief,
illness?

Good grief, you

make me tired

and here is what 

drives me bananas,

I can't hate you.

I want you more

than almost anything.

I want to wake up

to you, Life, and 

breath the air,

hug my kids,

kiss my husband,

see just one more

sunset, 
smile,

flower, 
baby.

Quit dangling

yourself in front of me.

I love you.

I love you not.

I love you.

I love you not.

So be it...

I love you.

But don't get smug.

It's unbecoming.