If we are really
going deep
into ourselves
we must
chip away
the unessential
distractions
to find the truth.

But I do not
pursue this
as much
as I want to
because
my distractions
are so nice.

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.

I can no longer be
the in-between,
watch you play
out the same sad scene,

watch you walk away
and come back
the same day
with a bruised heart
and a marked face,

feel you rest
your tired head
against my chest
as you express
affection for
a violent *****,

then talk to you
while you are
texting him,

or listen as you justify
your own abuse.

I feel guilty because
I want to walk away,
move on from the insane
vein of pain
you spray my way,
as you say
that I wouldn’t understand,

but I have felt
an abuser’s hands.

I do not presume
to mansplain
the layers of
your pain,
so please do not presume
that I do not understand
as much as any other human possibly can.

I went on to MySpace
And discovered I was snoring.
I moved on to Facebook
And found some were boring
But I found myself learning
Things I previously didn’t know
So maybe social media is
Not such a bad place to go.
Of course, we made Zuckerberg
A fracking multi-billionaire;
Richer than that clown in DC
With the orange face and hair.
But maybe that is Free Enterprise
The way it should always be;
The people that invent things
Can buy five thousand of me.

So, okay, Entrepreneurs, Inc.
I doff my hat at your energy
And your sense of adventure
And  most lucrative sensibility.
I’m sure if I had thought of it
I’d have done the same thing.
So here is your deserved applause
While you polish your brass ring.
I have no envy or rage for you
Because you have done so well
As long as a sense of privilege
Doesn’t drive us all to hell.
Sadly, that is what we see
Happening to the very rich.
They seem to indulge themselves
And leave the rest of us in a ditch.

So, Facebook has been good to me
And while I decry some of their stuff
A lot of the ******* I hear about it
Is quite obviously air-headed guff.
Yes, there’s a lot of data involved
And that will always be a threat
But, staying up on current news
Of things I have learned not to forget.
I watched the social changes, and
Heard from family and friends
As well as being warned of scams
And noticed styles and trends.
So, I won’t jump on Zuckerberg
And make like he is the very devil
When half of congress and DC
Are completely given over to evil.

She wears
a pink dress
with a pink
flowered crown,
as pink leaves
flutter
and fall
to the ground.

history is an old cassette tape
                     being rewound
and repeating
        we need a new tape...

I am not with the party,
Please understand,
I didn’t even vote for the man,
I am full of anger,
I am full of dread,
Everyday...
“did you hear what he said”?
And just when you think you heard enough,
You hear something else…
“he said, what”?
What is the question?
What does he mean?
“just grab their…”
What?!
So crude and obscene!
I am angry,
She lost…
I have no regret,
I am not Alt Reicht,
So, I am left,
Standing with you,
We have got to agree,
Support the new minority!
©B L Costello 2017