|
Lover's grip
What hold is this you have?
Is it one of love
or guilt?
I don’t feel guilty.
And it doesn’t feel like love;
it strangles my heart and clenches my chest.
My head gets heavy with anger;
My face hurts from frowning.
You are no dream,
yet I dream of you.
My heart lightens and I can breathe.
My face relaxes and I am happy.
Only for those moments when I don’t remember your figurative slap
across my mouth:
“I'd prefer not to do any more writing with you -
She’s already jealous of you cause of that picture and I don't want to
have to explain why we're still in contact, cause you're just
supposed to be someone I briefly met in Cuba.
I hope you understand (again)... thanks”
You might as well have said: “You don’t matter.”
You make me sick.
I make myself sick for fantasizing about you.
I made you my dream
and
all
you
are
is
a
man.
A cheating man.
by Kathleen Moll
Read the story behind this poem
|
|
