A Rebuttal, of Sorts

I am bound by the crooked in my smile.

Happiness displayed always as a contorted reality of who I am.

My grin does not eat shit and it has certainly had enough of yours.

It is appalling how much you have yet to know of me.

I do not put sugar in my coffee, nor do I drink it black.

I inject it, straight into my veins; slow was never my way to remain safe. My cup is always full.

There are more than two butts in any half-hour increment of my life. And this rebuttal is only half of why

My pen rests comfortably on the only fuck you I have left.

I did taste you on the lovers we have shared,

as they spit their remaining bitterness in my direction.

I took it gladly, because it matched my own.

That is what we had in common, them and I.

A mutual distaste and mistrust for you.

But as time passed as time always does,

my ability to see you as human drew a line

between them and I.


In the beginning

I needed someone to confirm

that you were a downgrade for her.

Triumph was knowing that I was better for her.

In trying to understand you,

I discovered who I am.

With her, you were putting

the wrong pieces together,

because it was what worked at the time.

With him, I was learning

that not everything I didn’t understand

needed my questioning or approval.


You want to know if this is hatred or curiosity, it is neither.

And this is not about you.

Fear is all I have left. And all that is,

is false evidence appearing real.

A constant silent weeping for the moments

I have lost; that were never even mine.

Fear not that you will return, but

that you have not left and you will not go.


Yes, I have thought of the rooms of my house you have been in.

The one space that you wanted into the most

was the one I was most careful with the lock.

The long dark corridors of my heart

were no match for your wandering.


I left a candle burning deep inside;

a testament to the fire hazard I have always been.


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