deep within i swear
this is the last poem ever written
bullshit. i was stupid on love
(not just alcohol)
when i wrote
the drunken soliliquoy.
even yoga reminds me of how
you loved the way my
c o n t o rt s.
you loved it for your pleasure.
i felt more in control
with my legs behind my head
than i ever did
when you held my hand
i knew how to make you do
as i wished
when you wanted to fuck me.
i didn't know what to do,
when you wanted to loved me.
so although it's no one's fault-
but since i am the heroine
of my own life
(the heroin of yours)
i shall play victor.
and smash your jaw beneath
just so i'll never hear you say
i love you
you follow me.
so i set you free.
the girl you loved is no longer alive.
(i smothered her in all the 'i love yous' i collected from you when they bounced off my armor and you turned around to observe some imagined thing so i wouldn't see the pain in your eyes and i collected them and hid them in my pocket but maybe i should have worn them on my sleeve but you scared me you scared me so much and i just wanted to be alive and feel but i couldn't because you scared me and every time you kissed me i slipped a little further towards the cliff and if i fell off there's no guarantee you would have caught me even thought you promised me you would because i can't trust you because... i can't... trust... myself?)
she's just not so stupid anymore.
because the thing is,
she'd kill you
before she'd take her own life.
(i'm not so scared anymore)
are you listening?
(how could you, when anything of meaning is shoved within two brackets, obscured by ellipses, meant to be shared with everyone but you)
(i love you)(i think)
and i'm good at thinking (so i must be good, at loving).
russian roulette with a redhead on a bender.
(when what she really wants is to be bent over by you)
no. scratch that. stop making it sexual because you're too scared to make it sensual.
(what? ...i don't understand why you'r-
shut up. say it to him if you're going to say it to everyone else.
see, you're writing i love you. over and over. a million times. in invisible ink. wake up. it's not no one's fault. you shouldn't have thrown dishes at him and he should have realized that when you sat, shaking and babbling on the floor, telling him you hated him, what you really meant was that you hated how scared he made you feel.
(and he should have realized that the only way he could have made it better was by gathering me up and rocking me back and forth)
he's not going to touch a rabid alleycat.
(even if he knows that she knows that he knows how to make her purr)
scaredy cat. learn how to purr by yourself.