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the shock hits first;
                  even before the betrayal.
          oncethatsinksin,

you would think anger would be next -
                  
                  but it's not.

                               it's disappointment.

disappointment is next,
                  because in addition to the


emptiness


that what you did
created,

i am disappointed that (yet again) i didn't
                  see it coming.

you would think that by now,
                  i'd be used to it,

                                  but how does one get used to
                                  thisfeelingofemptyinferiority?

i'll tell you.

you don't

                  you don't get used to it,
                                 youleave.


but i'm too
                 shocked and
                                 betrayed and
                                                  disappointed.

                                 andyoujustlaythereand

                *sleep
i guess i'll never understand...
Millions of people
work nine to five
breaking their backs
for disposable paper bills
and small copper coins
never realizing currency
cannot guarantee tomorrow.
The promise of another day
can only be granted by
a phenomenon we continue
to waste: t...i...m...e.
I cracked my bones,
curled my legs,
and bent my spine,
forcing myself to
fit your definition of
human perfection.

I presented my morphed bundle
of brittle bones and stretched skin
before your dark eyes...
and you still walked away.

I was never going to be
good enough for you, was I?
But now that I see what I've become,
I am not good enough for me, either.
As I opened the medicine cabinet
carefully hidden behind a broken mirror,
I discovered transparent orange bottles
with broken childproof tabs on each cap,
concealing diet pills the size of ants.

I replaced the capsules with fully bloomed daisies
and I hope you swallow each petal
and ingest each stem entirely
so you can eat something that,
like you, encompasses beauty.
I either lose sleep
for you
or
because of you.
I can no longer hear the smooth notes of jazz,
how the saxophone, trumpet, and piano
worked together in harmony when we didn't.

I can no longer find shelter in the soft chords,
for the safety I once felt in your presence
has been compromised once again.

They call jazz a dying art, which,
I guess, is what we became.
You ruined an entire genre of music for me.
i.
You realize life's real currency
isn't money, which can be spent on me,
but time, which can be spent with me.

ii.
The others saw you as a beggar,
but it is me who has begged for you to stay.

iii.
Tie a ribbon around my finger,
it all means just the same.
Scientists divide my body
into systems,
cardiovascular,
circulatory,
respiratory,
but when you are in my presence,
it all becomes nervous.
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