This is not a poem to idealize you, but
I remember your body well.
I miss how soft your skin was, the way it smelled
like your bed, back home when we…when you
would hold and kiss me lightly.
I hadn’t loved you then.
You were a stranger, with new paint and gold embroideries,
a beautiful boat in a safe harbor.
No, I did not love you then.
It was when I could see my fingerprints on your windows,
the scuff marks on the floors,
and the nights I’d hear you creek and moan.
It was when I felt the dulling of the brass
on the railings I used most often,
the day I memorized the placement of every
chip of paint, and ugly barnacle.
I wish you felt the same.
When we met, I was far away
(I had not loved you then).
You saw my silhouette and imagined
a glowing vessel of gold and pearls,
delicate and wild.
I’m sorry to have disappointed you
with my wooden frame, and chipped paint.
The creaks and moans of a body at sea.
The parts I loved of you,
you didn’t wish to see in me.
So let me set aside the flowery words
the alliteration and simile.
Let me speak plainly.
You are a miserable self-fulfilling prophesy
riding on the coat-tails of sympathy
with an ego so self-righteous, so blind
that if you were handed a mirror,
you’d only see another stranger to criticize.
You wouldn’t know love if it hit you in the face,
And it has, on several occasions.
I now fully understand the stories
of women running you over with cars,
and screaming profanities from 2nd story windows.
You called them crazy, but,
I only wish I had the nerve to join their ranks.
You are a judgmental, emotional leech
squirming in your own self hatred and soiled clothes,
imposing your disparaging insecurities
onto the ones who try to clean you up.
So please believe me that when I say
**** you”
It is only because they have not created a word
powerful enough
to describe the sour taste your name leaves in my mouth,
or the sparks of hot metal it leaves
when it crosses my mind.
When I say “I never want to see you again”
It is only because I am so embarrassed
by your appearance in my recent past
that if you were to:
fall into a hole,
float out to sea,
or disappear into your own puckered ****
I would breathe a sigh of relief.
So, yes- I miss the way your skin smelled;
like your bed, sweet and sour.
but there are beds
with more loveable personalities
than you.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
This is not a poem to idealize you, but
I remember your body well.
I miss how soft your skin was, the way it smelled
like your bed, back home when we…when you
would hold and kiss me lightly.
I hadn’t loved you then.
You were a stranger, with new paint and gold embroideries,
a beautiful boat in a safe harbor.
No, I did not love you then.
It was when I could see my fingerprints on your windows,
the scuff marks on the floors,
and the nights I’d hear you creek and moan.
It was when I felt the dulling of the brass
on the railings I used most often,
the day I memorized the placement of every
chip of paint, and ugly barnacle.
I wish you felt the same.
When we met, I was far away
(I had not loved you then).
You saw my silhouette and imagined
a glowing vessel of gold and pearls,
delicate and wild.
I’m sorry to have disappointed you
with my wooden frame, and chipped paint.
The creaks and moans of a body at sea.
The parts I loved of you,
you didn’t wish to see in me.
So let me set aside the flowery words
the alliteration and simile.
Let me speak plainly.
You are a miserable self-fulfilling prophesy
riding on the coat-tails of sympathy
with an ego so self-righteous, so blind
that if you were handed a mirror,
you’d only see another stranger to criticize.
You wouldn’t know love if it hit you in the face,
And it has, on several occasions.
I now fully understand the stories
of women running you over with cars,
and screaming profanities from 2nd story windows.
You called them crazy, but,
I only wish I had the nerve to join their ranks.
You are a judgmental, emotional leech
squirming in your own self hatred and soiled clothes,
imposing your disparaging insecurities
onto the ones who try to clean you up.
So please believe me that when I say
**** you”
It is only because they have not created a word
powerful enough
to describe the sour taste your name leaves in my mouth,
or the sparks of hot metal it leaves
when it crosses my mind.
When I say “I never want to see you again”
It is only because I am so embarrassed
by your appearance in my recent past
that if you were to:
fall into a hole,
float out to sea,
or disappear into your own puckered ****
I would breathe a sigh of relief.
So, yes- I miss the way your skin smelled;
like your bed, sweet and sour.
but there are beds
with more loveable personalities
than you.