he said I've never been one to swear when I'm mad
but I'll call you what you are
if I need to.
he said I come up with names for people that run forever
he said I'm calling you an aberration.
if that's what you are
and if it is,
then that's the worst thing I'll call you.
but how is that the worst thing he'd call me?
when he called me
a painful love? and
when he called it
painstaking adoration
stupidity in the form of infatuation
he said be with me
but leave in the morning
cause after this i don't ever want to see you again
and then he called me to say i was an aberration
but his words felt like they meant to say that i was not quite the aberration but
the everything that had gone wrong
that was now getting what it had coming
and melting, coming in as purple flurries of
a sad sad sad till it all finally
became the red of the moon on the day i last saw you
and there was nothing more to mourn after that
but the hopeless, formless, blobulous
aberrations that line up like stars
that he calls consolations (you were a consolation)
not constellations
and the days i existed before i knew i was and wasn't one.
and i guess it's all too easy to say i
appreciate your honesty but harder when
i'm here on this rooftop
trying to balance old equations
that don't have numbers to them
trying to
take these pieces and pretend they're from
the same puzzle.
taking one stupid piece after another
of myself hoping to
draw myself together into a
redemption
against him
and i'm sure this is fair because
love is an emotional minefield and he knows how to play *****.
blobulous isn't a word but it should be