...is that I usually write something immediately, and feel better.

Asshole Amnesia

it’s like you forgot
every tender moment
in the dark
the cookies never happened
the love was never there
it’s like
you got hit
in the head
by a cartoon flowerpot or anvil
and now
you don’t remember
who I am
I try to jog your memory
with scraps of old fabric
and dried flowers
but nothing seems to work
you look at me
a stranger
you have
no heart
for me
I’m nothing to you
just some idiot
trying to convince
a man who doesn’t know her
that once
they were in love

Impot(incompit)ence

I had this boyfriend
in high school
after we broke up
he confessed,
I used to like
to make you cry
it made me feel
like a man
and I said
I know

The way I cry
is like surrender.
It’s like everything falling
right out
through a hole
in the bottom
of the grocery bag.
As my oranges roll away,
I need you.
I need you
to pick them all up
and bring them
back to me.
I need you
to put one in my hand
and let your fingers stay too long.
I need you.

But the truth is,
I knew when I picked up
the bag,
I knew about the tear
underneath.
And I worked it open
with my thumb
until I knew
everything
would plummet precisely.
Then I stood,
perfectly pained,
and let it all go.

So you
could come to my rescue.
So you
could be a man.

I lost most
of my oranges
that way.