Thursday, May 31, 2007
A rough poem I'm having trouble revisiting:
I just got
tired.
Tired of taking shit,
tired of taking care,
tired of caring.
There were 25 times
I thought we were over,
but the last time
was the first time I knew.
We're gonna hit that awkward phase,
the adolescent maturation
of an evolving relationship
that never really was,
but should've been
as long as both of us
weren't idiots.
We both had side stories
and tangential relations.
But you fucked someone we knew,
and the girl I fucked
had no face
because she was part of a past
that's only moved upstate
in the amounts I've chosen to reveal.
And for that,
you've never been confronted by my options,
never had to think about knowing
what it could be like to lose me.
Each time I found an out
I let myself let you go
a little bit further,
snapping back harder each time
until one was final
and separate ways
became the inevitable consequence
they had threatened to turn into
from the first time we kissed too quickly
and hung out too often,
too early,
and force-fed an intensity
falsely founded on a feeling
I realized too late was fiction.
tired.
Tired of taking shit,
tired of taking care,
tired of caring.
There were 25 times
I thought we were over,
but the last time
was the first time I knew.
We're gonna hit that awkward phase,
the adolescent maturation
of an evolving relationship
that never really was,
but should've been
as long as both of us
weren't idiots.
We both had side stories
and tangential relations.
But you fucked someone we knew,
and the girl I fucked
had no face
because she was part of a past
that's only moved upstate
in the amounts I've chosen to reveal.
And for that,
you've never been confronted by my options,
never had to think about knowing
what it could be like to lose me.
Each time I found an out
I let myself let you go
a little bit further,
snapping back harder each time
until one was final
and separate ways
became the inevitable consequence
they had threatened to turn into
from the first time we kissed too quickly
and hung out too often,
too early,
and force-fed an intensity
falsely founded on a feeling
I realized too late was fiction.
Labels: poetry
