"Satifying your ex-husband lust."
jeffrey conyers 

You have someone interested in you.
But you're still creeping with him.
That divorce man of yours and the father of your kids.

No reasons you give seems legit.
And you try to offer them to justify your action.
And the only one happy is the divorce man.

You have someone trying to connect to you.
And he even commented, you're getting played for a fool.
Just being used for a physical need tool.
Satifying your ex-husband lust.

But the new man doesn't blame him.
As much as he level the error of judgment upon you.
He does inquire, what will happen when he quit you?
And another interest his heart.

Since you agreed to be used.
Don't later try to say he took advantage of you.
For that wouldn't be true.

Many men get blame for the stupidity of a few.
But in this case, it's you.

"Yeah I'm a resenting has been and ex-husband,"
David Beltran 

For an hour on my drive to school at night,
When the music and headlights come on,
For that hour I'm a rock star.
If you stop and stare even better,
and I'd congratulate you because you are my audience.
I'm the drummer, singer, bassist, piano player and guitarist,
Hell I'm even the guy playing with lights back stage.

But as soon as I park and get out of my car,
I'm not a singer, I'm not a musician and
I'm certainly tone deaf.
Yeah I'm a resenting has been and ex-husband,
I don't eat, sleep or fuck but writing is what keeps me sober these days.
Singing is what keeps my mind off the time,
and music what keeps me off the lines.

I used to give out ratings.
Now I keep the words to myself
and if my opinion is asked of me,
I just give them the simple half.
Let them figure out what's missing,
the way I found out what I was needing.

I may not make a mill next year,
or be able to pay the bills this month.
But I will be recognized for the things that are
put on billboards and on your bedroom walls.
I will be known for the message you wear everyday,
and for giving a face to the girl that sings in the dark on stage
and plays in your car all day.

But for just this hour I'm just a simple rock star.

Would like to receive feedback and critique, thank you.
"She'd talk of her ex-husband."
JJ Hutton 

Harvey sees the sun for the first time
without history--
the worn leather, unshined shoes in closet,
the ex-girls off the telephone--
the beams blow kisses, taunt, and beckon.

Harvey folds a paper with half a sentence
and puts it in his pocket--
"I'm too callused to love, too empty to be, a void..."
he knows the end but doesn't write it.

Harvey dreams of calm waters,
salt, sundresses, and eager toenails hammered into sand.
A waitress's reflection in the coffee shop glass shakes Harvey from trance.

"Another cup?" she asks with a crowbar forehead.
Harvey stares at her wrinkles, prying for exposition--
while her voice melts over innocent questions.

Harvey thinks about taking her home.
She'd talk of her ex-husband.
They didn't have kids, but she wanted them.
Harvey couldn't give her kids,
but he could give her him--
a favor.
She wouldn't die alone.

"Did you hear me? Coffee?"
He'd make her feel tall.
She'd find new, fast-talking, book-n-tabloid-munching friends.
Harvey would nod and "oooh" and "ahhh".
Harvey would itch for wrecking ball.

The waitress pours the cup despite his silence.
"If you need anything, let me know."
Harvey nods.
The coffee shop contains the hustle of a mad race track.
Elderlies at the bar, youngsters on the tile floor,
moms and dads hoping to choke with each bite of doughnut.

Harvey doesn't pay much attention to the other patrons.
They are reds, yellows, blues, and noise to him.
He unfolds the piece of a paper and writes,
"I'm too callused to love, too empty to be,
a void in search of a void to sink and share
the blackness."

He leaves a tip on the table.
He pays the cashier.
He leaves the colors and the noise.
He crumples the paper, and gives
it to the wind outside.

"22, Ex-husband, Sylvia."
Wolves and Lilies 

1st shot, I'll forget you tonight.
2nd shot, I should date Noah on the weekend.
3rd shot, Been 6 years since we tied knots
4th shot, This is for you and your lies.
5th shot, For the stripper with red panties
6th shot, Go to hell Steve.
7th shot, Why Steve?
8th shot, Steve ..
9th shot, I'll call Steve.
10th shot, Please come home. I miss you.
11th shot, One more Blue Margarita
12th shot, I'm not drunk.
13th shot, Hello Ben! Officially divorced!
14th shot, I know. His lose. Thank you.
15th shot, Blah.. Blah.. Blah..
16, 17, 18, 19, 20, How many shots?
Probably 21, drunk enough to slept with my husband's brother.
22, Ex-husband, Sylvia.

"e. Forever ain't that long. Just ask my ex-husband."
JJ Hutton 

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. I let her introduce herself. Sadie, she said, like The Beatle's song.

I'm hard to forget, so I asked, What's your motto?

She breathed in reverse. She looked at the door. She was past mottos.

It was Josh, right?


Let me tell you something. I'm the bad, sexy bitch that's gonna wreck your health.

And she did.

Every weekend for 105 weekends. I opened her up like a paycheck.
I spent her on a big brass bed.
I spent her on glass tile.
I spent her on the kitchen island.
The Japanese table.
The water lily pond.

Her brother Frank or Gary or Marvin---some American classic---kept us
horizontal with white whiskey from his personal still.
Personal still.
And there is a house in New Orleans,
but there's another one in Colorado Springs,
one you should be wary of.

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. I let him tell me about his dream. My name is Jack, he said, as in Jumpin' Jack Flash.

Like the Rolling Stones' song?
Like the Stones' song, man.

You were in it.

Four white girls shared one mic. Karaoke night.

You were in my dream. Are you listening to me? I'm gonna say it anyways.
I only had one eye, but I could see you. Seen you plain as day.
You were scared of me. As you should be. We were on the coast.
No, I don't know which one. I saw that thought on your forehead.
It was a dream. Anyway, you were holding a pen. A giant pen.
And I asked for your name.

I lifted my drink from the makeshift napkin coaster. Pulled a pen out of my coat pocket.
Straightened out the napkin. I scribbled Nobody. Handed it to him. And aimed myself toward the interstate.

I shoud've told the bartender to tie me to the last working pay phone.
But I didn't. She had one helluva an afro. Her name was Katrina, not like any song, like the hurricane.

My skin tastes a little like coffee, Katrina said.

I like coffee.

You wouldn't like me.

Probably not. But I've been lost in this bar forever. I could change my mind.

No, sweetie. Forever ain't that long. Just ask my ex-husband.

Katrina paid for her drink. Asked me if I'd like the change.

Yeah, I'll take it.

I called my buddy Chris back in Oklahoma, but he didn't answer.
I called my buddy Ben back in Oklahoma, but he didn't answer.
Sam. Sarah. Brooks. Nothing. Silence.

Barkeep (I always wanted to say it), I don't think your phone is working.

It works. You gotta remember kid. You're on Rocky time.
There's an hour, every night,
where you're the only person you know that's awake.

"The silence was the ex-husband"
Francisco DH 

There was something about the silence
Something about the “Our little secret”, “Don’t tell anybody” silence
That kept intruding into our conversations
On Friday afternoons

The silence was the ex-boyfriend
Who sucked his “I love you’s” and “Baby”s
Right from his lips.

The silence was the ex-husband
Who demanded him to pay for everything
With him avoiding eye contact as acceptable payment.

The silence was the ex-lover
Who stole the romance
As it slowly got of his bed taking with it his words and love.

The silence was the reason I stopped talking to him.

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