I wanted to say you're worth a poem,
but a poem requires thought.
And I am no longer willing to let
you consume my mind.

You've created a monster,
and a monster,
I'm not willing to be.

The image of another man
loving your body the way I used to
boils my blood,
it drains me with rage.

But you are not worth my misery
I deserve better,
and better I will receive.

I am rolling hills with vibrant tulips as far as the eye can see,
I am savannah with boundless sunshine, flora and fauna wild and carefree
I am thick forest with trees who stand tall and strong and extend their arms to the sky,
I am luscious jungle untamed and heavy and saturated with blossoms and vines.

I am gorgeous in every part of me, regardless of the sharpened gazes
pointed towards me like spears.
I am powerful in every part of me because I dare to be me,
sharpening my own spears in self defense.

My jungle is the strongest part of me,
A landscape of coarse trunks along the curves of my legs,
A tangled mass of vines on the undersides of my arms,
An unruly bush to accompany trunks at the place where they meet.

I rule my jungle in confidence and wield my own spears
To let the savages know that I am unafraid and comfortable
whether my jungle is tamed or left uncut.

My mentor spoke to me of two rivals,
Once, they had been friends in some distant past.
But the years have eaten their love and made grudges manifest.
|The two shattered into broken glass

To my wise master I asked only one,
One question... In all my range.
One question I asked:
“What changed?”

In the outskirts, at the home of my daughter
Where you can stare at the stars or passing cars
None more brighter than the other,
We share memories of my grandmother.
In the photographs, she looks so much younger.
Not frail, but a fighter, lover and saintly|

To me, she asks plainly,
One question, and one question only.
Sifting through the ages of years past:
“What Changed?”

At the kitchen table, feeling inadequate,
My lover screaming and frustrated,
I recall memories when we had been intimate.
Times when movement was made for desire and not duty
|A calendar of nights left in confused abstinence

I interrupt.
She delays rage.
I beg,
“What Changed?”

_

In the last few hours of night
The dawn reaches me at last.
I had locked moments-
Literal seconds of time as the truth.
But it was always changing
In flux and morphing.
Turning into something new
Just for a moment, and then on again
“What Changed?”
Everything.
Always.