He's a catch isn't he
young and far from virile
nonthreatening and funny
in an unfunny way
to me,
the textbook *******
a guy that couldn't
do or deal with half of
what I do daily--
and after all my
pleas of love--
the poems I wrote you
the letters I wrote you
bearing my soul--
putting everything on the line--
you still won't look me in the eye
bet you'll look him in the eye
because behind his eyes are nothing
you love that
when you look behind mine,
you see the pain
you inflicted
you see the dreams
unrealized
but mostly you
see the pain
and the guilt seeps
and seeps
I hope
I tried,
out of both spite
and courtesy,
to tell him you'd just lead him on--
wait for him to bear his soul
then get uncomfortable with everything
and he took my words
and put them on a platter
and, with them, sat his--
delicious, appealing, and
poisonous
telling of how you love him
and you swore to me--
he was nothing--
less of a friend than I--
either way,
you'll cause my emotional death
make me sour for any woman
much
less
you
and now,
finally,
unlike every other time
I haven't forgiven you
I have but made you seem forgiven
for, now, at the last,
is the time for me to pull
the strings--
for me to ruffle your feathers
and I hope you tumble down
and eventually make it to my level
where you see the gods from below
and find them
all
but
divine