Today’s word of the day is schadenfreude, a German word that’s slowly being adopted into English. A schadenfreude is a person who enjoys the troubles others face. It’s like malicious joy. Schaden is the German word for harm or damage, and freude the word for pleasure.
It wasn’t that you refused to clean,
You were born, obviously, in a more pristine
Environment than us, the unfortunate
People who’s parents didn’t make enough,
Or raise us right instead of beating us with a belt.
It wasn’t that your rent was turned in late,
Always late and magically never given in full.
We always seemed to make enough to cover your mistakes:
Too much spent shopping, that trip to Miami, dinner
With more important, richer friends at the latest place.
It wasn’t that we always paid for the groceries,
Paid for the Internet, paid for new dishes and silverware,
Furniture we needed, you know so we knew too, we needed
Everything you said would make us seem a little more decent.
What if one of your friends, our friends, were to come over?
It also wasn’t that you demanded we give you respect
Freely, yet for us we needed to prove ourselves first in
Your precious baby blue eyes, whose to say our past doesn’t
Still haunt us – what if we had itchy fingers and a case of laziness.
You always needed to make sure we knew how to work.
Again, it wasn’t that you refuse to listen or learn
Even when you asked to be taught – look, i understand,
Learning to balance a checkbook or load the dishwasher is something
Very unsophisticated, but it needs to be done. The intricate details
Of self-sufficiency are many and hard to remember, I know.
We know, you never considered yourself to be the bad house-mate,
Never locking the door, but proudly boasting that you carried the key.
Money was your security growing up, can’t we see? With that only our
Messes mattered. Only our responsibilities, our downfalls, our less than yours
And less than respectable upbringing. It’s hard to live with us I know.
But it was never necessarily the things you did which pilled up
Piece by piece like the dirty laundry that spread all over your floor.
It wasn’t always the things you did to us when you expected us to do more.
It was the way, and why, and how you chose to live with us like a punishment,
Like a chore unless we did everything for you only to have you demand praise.
If you like my writing you should check out my book Moth-Like.! It’s available on Amazon in multiple countries!