i miss the sound of your excitement in the dim of a theater, your hand on my arm a livewire,
your appreciation for caterpillars, your hair freshly dyed,
the ghost of you lingers in my little home while you’re still alive.
what did i do wrong
what manner of maelstrom are you caught in that this is how you ask for help–
a drowning man climbing atop a lifeguard
and sinking them, too
it’s good that i’m moving.
ten years i have striven to give the best of me to you: patient, safe, reassuring, kind, learning–
now you tell me my best is duplicitous, selfish, condescending–
i see no reason to give you anything else
i am beginning to think the problem isn’t me
my godmother tells me the solution to this is to use this to forge myself into
someone who knows how to spot cowards.
you could learn a lot from her.
love and fury are synonyms but love and pain are not
if this is how you beg forgiveness it is inadequate