I am not the wife she needed.
she never need a wife.
she needs a man.
a michigan man.
a medicine man.
a mans man
a masculine mass of muscle man
a man to make more little men with.
a man who watches us make out
mouths on mouths on mouths
till he finds the courage to drag **** out of his.

the first girl I slept with told me i didn’t count.
the first girl I loved is still in the closet.
the first girl I dated has a boyfriend now.

In this man’s world
she still sips, steals, stinks with liters of whiskey.
Texts me the next morning saying i went home with two guys last night and i am still
so empty.
She hides in holes of london
Hides in fear of hell
Hides and heals in me.

My love hides in middle ground
perched like a bird on the fulcrum of a teeter totter
nested in the arms of justice between the scale.
she texts me everyday
“everything has gone to ****. I wish I wasn’t too scared to make myself happy”