Just Another Poem

I did love you,


But then,

Bit by bit,

You chipped away at who I was

Who I am

Until all I could do

Was run.

Then you turned into something

From one of your beloved monster movies;



Left among my things

For weeks

You defiled some

Beyond the hope of future use

And took some,

But to what end?

What use is my




To you?

That one,

That one,

That one,

My most precious volume

And my most personal.

Years of my heart

Spilled out in purple ink.

Stories of love lost

Love found



Wanting to die

Stories of men

Who aren’t


Stories of undying love

For my babies

Who aren’t


“Hand in Hand” is a good one.

Did you like it?

It was all about regret

About divorce

About trying to let someone go

To give them a chance at happiness

Someone I loved dearly

Who wasn’t


I was hoping I was wrong

That my




Would turn up;

Maybe I hid it somewhere

Too good;

Maybe it was just hiding

Under paperwork

Or a story folder

In a cramped desk drawer.

Maybe I stuffed it

In the side pocket of

A shoulder bag.

Tell me,

Did you

Hold it in a sweaty fist

While you carved

Your vulgar goodbye

Into my dining room wall?

Did you keep it?

Did you burn it?

Did you bury it?

Did you read it?

The takeaway should be:

I lived an entire life before you

And I have shelves

Of empty notebooks to fill

Before I’m done.

1 thought on “Just Another Poem”

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