I am not a body in the wreckage;
 this is not the part where you
 drive by slowly again and again, 
your speckled egg-shell neck craning
 to see what damage you might have done.


There is no yellow-tape around my heart, 
and they have not outlined my shape in chalk. 
I am not an animal in a cage 
here for your amusement when you
 get bored or lonely or just want
 me to remember that you used to be
 the one who kissed me good night.

I will not pull out my entrails 
so you can see if my heart still
 beats or if it was a job well done.
 I am not the debris at ground zero,
 and there will be no memorial built 
here in honour of what you ruined;
 it wasn’t worth the ash it left behind.