Let me simplify
what you can't justify
by saying
it's futile
and unimportant.
You're lackluster
and distorted.
This time is vacuous
And holds no meaning
So watch it play out
And quit your dreaming.

This time last year
I was so happy.
Today I can't stop staring at
my basket of laundry,
wishing it would
fold itself.

You told me I was your
terra firma
because you could always
count on me to be there
when even you
didn't want to be there

I relished the fact that you
would consider me your
anything
let alone something
that sounded so strong and
beautiful

Your extraplanetary misadventures
in love and lust and
all things fleeting
left your wobbly legs aching for
solid ground

But you should know
I'm here to hold you up
not for you to
walk all over

I used to do things, you know,
with my time.
I used to read;
books, sometimes magazines.

I used to garden.
(Can you imagine?)
I planted tomatoes
and an aloe plant, some flowers.

I used to write, on occasion
mostly short stories
and some essays
here and there.

I liked to cook
and not just scrambled eggs,
(though you always liked my scrambled eggs)
but whole meals
and bake too.

I used to do things, you know
before you.

I can't seem to write
anything these days.
There's just no poetry
in my misery.

I can't seem to right
anything these days.
There's just no cogency
in my apologies.

Your shirt was missing a button
and I couldn't help but notice
but you told me I was pretentious
so I pretended not to see it
but all day long it bothered
me and I couldn't help but stare
at the way the fabric bunched
and nobody seemed to care

I trace my fingertips across the car door
making designs in the dirt.
You yell at me,
but I can't hear you.

All I can hear is the
pounding of my heart.
The blood pumping through my body
echoes in my ears,
and your voice sounds distant.
What I imagine it sounds like after a bomb goes off to those
who were standing too close.

I stare at the the ground, the setting sun,
the neat circles of dirt on the tips of my fingers,
anywhere but at you.
Even though your looks are
bouncing off me like rubber bands,
even though your words sound
like they're going through a filter,
I can tell you are begging me to look at you.

Ears ringing, eyes stinging,
I slowly meet your gaze.
Now, I'm no lip reader,
but I could see the venom dripping
off your lips as you spoke.
There's no mistaking that foul, fricative-fronted phrase.

But I deserve it, I know.

You look as if you are about to say something else,
but you stop yourself with just a nanosecond to spare.
The words left your brain but
never made it to your tongue.

Instead, the thought manifested itself in silent tears
that dripped down your face.
Tracing my mistakes
across the the cheeks I used to caress,
down the neck I used to kiss,
toward the heart I didn't mean to break.