I am not pretty,
But I will love (you)
While you ask me to bid goodbye.
I won’t even write about hope
yours is a granite door painted-shut,
I won’t write about
fireplaces and your lips on my shoulders
deep long talks about birthing dreams
a house with lots of windows
hands curling feet by the lake.
I said hold on, give me a second;
And you didn’t wait
not a second, not for me,
but (quickly) filed me away in that category
full of index cards and manila folders,
misshapen lives and unwanted women.
That’s where I belong now,
in a gray metal cabinet,
while you look on with distaste.
Like I am a lemon while all you want is chocolate
Before I knew it,
we were reduced to a plain waste
of a contract, your cold hard math
and unilateral decisions,
like human relationships don’t matter,
like I never once brought you any joy.