For seven months I drank my tea at the window and allowed the sun to cast its rays over my resolution.
I gazed at the space between but never directly into my neighbours house
for I knew the indifference that awaited me in her window of enmity.
During the seventh month my love swelled and pooled at my fingertips, restless with those un-penned words of indignation,
And so I gazed into her window.
Bleeding from my freshest wound,
just rage unfurled into bitter poems,
reruns of us,
of when you offered the belly of my dignity to feed your enemies, revealed a vengeance owed to me,
not of retribution
but of justice.
During the eighth month I wrestled love and grief, rage and memory,
to save you,
to save you from the recklessness my pain threatened to uncage.
I allowed the waves of your betrayal to break over me and pull me back into the sea of childlike grace within myself.
I did not emerge cleansed, pure, or resolved.
Victorious over my animal lust for vengeance,
yet unsatiated in surrendering my desire to deliver you to the same gallows where you made a pariah of me.
And conflicted with answerless questions.
Is vengeance the natural harbinger of karma and therefore my gentleness; justice interrupted?
Is my enduring love my weakness or my courage?
.

I saw that text one night.
I read every line over and over again
I can’t believe you said that
I thought of the best way to respond
I was honest with you
Though my message was shorter,
I meant every word
Once it sent,
I blocked you
On everything.
You wanted nothing to do with me
Why should you know about me?

I heard what you told our friends one day.
I was told over and over again
I can't believe you said that
You wanted me to be scared
You wanted me to change
You cried to them saying that’s what you wanted to happen
Life isn’t fair
I meant every word
We were done.
There was nothing you could do

I know about the things you said about me.
You repeated them over and over again
I knew what you were going to do
You tried to paint me the bad guy
Make the fallout seem like my fault
What happened to you saying you would **** yourself without me?
How come saying you were done with me painted me as the terminator?
Life isn't fair
You should know that by now
Actions have consequences
If you didn’t want me to leave,
You shouldn’t have reacted the way you did

You apparently told someone what you were going to send before you did
You told my friend since preschool
They sided with you
I’ve known them my whole life
They’ve known you for not even two years
Life isn’t fair
I should know that by now
But it still hurt

I saw that text one night.
And I hate to admit it,
But I cried

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

When I was a girl
I thought I could be anything I wanted
I didn’t realize I would grow up
To be a woman
That I was forever ‘and her’
Instead of them
That my father loved me
As an exception
And I would have to witness my sisters
Wither away in happiness
I found out that I was not the ‘public’
In public transportation
That I needed to switch my grocery run times
Every now and then
Discovered the places where a hat
Could be the best weapon
On Sundays, I dress up and buy pretty roses for my table
To keep from remembering that
If someone wanted
There was nothing I could do to stop them