my insides unfurl
and the dripping mess that follows-
i touch up, with just a li’l bit of saline solution
and oh, isn’t it
pretty
like you wanted me to be all along
like i could never be all along
it’s a dusty kind of pink,
lilac or lavender,
i was never good at colours, i just knew their names
enough so i could spin them into my poems
(the ones you hated because they were so full of
run-on sentences and pain
there was my texas twang and my
desecration of all things religious
to make the metaphor fit)
i needed colour, more life than i could afford
it was the dowry you never accepted.
i’m so sorry.
i keep reliving the past,
what once had been
what could have been