Her presence
is like
old wooden steps
that risk
a split
and break
or a wet spot
where I will slip
and take
a terrible
emotional
tumble.

I am humble
as I bumble
through this
boring existence
and I like
not being bothered
by her idiotic
insistence
in pursuing
abusive
men.

But when she calls,
I let her back in,
leave just enough
of an opening
to feel the sting
of her hurting
combined
with my broken heart.

I know where to start
by blanketing my heart
with harder steel
against the way
she makes me feel,
but I do not know
where going that cold
will lead me to,
and I really don’t
want to
find out.