(She’s here.)
Sitting patiently at your door,
the day you left your keys,
when the lights got left on,
and the closest fell open
(with your discomposure).
She's the equity collector,
the moral police,
and every cut led to retribution.
(It’s bleeding out.)
You never liked my poems,
so for me, it's all just poetic justice.
Karma tastes too sweet,
like my boyfriend’s oat milk lattes,
the sun between the trees,
and my three rough degrees.
(It’s never been easy.)
Flatter me with evil genius -
but I take no part,
i’ve only been cleaning my conscious,
taking out the garbage,
and making your bed,
(so why don’t you just lay in it?)