might find our little pleasantries
if you could only
graduate to me.
what has she that i haven't?
she's pretty.
i have a beautiful soul.
it's not perfect, but it's beautiful.
she laughs at your jokes
but you never really did
put much stock in them;
are you putting on a front for her
or am i made naive among your untruths?
from the way she looks at you
and the ease with which her tolerance falters
after a few mimosas
i'm lead to believe she'll give you everything
without you asking --
everything except her self-respect, that is,
if she can even find any.
i'd never be so brazen
with you
just like i'd never be so easily intoxicated
on anything in life
but whiskey or you.
she's affording you her flesh
and limited affections
to make herself feel better,
not to please you.
throw away.
i'd be there
through even your ugliest days
and i'd make you happy
because i wanted to,
nothing in it for me but the satisfaction
that you're content
on my efforts and company --
not disposable.
her charms are merely meant
to conceal how she's been used
by so many before you in the past
because she lets them use her.
i almost feel pity,
almost,
but her chances of extracting such pure emotion from me
might be better
were she not using
you
as her latest pawn
in some sick chess game
you've already lost.
the fact that it's
you
makes everything not OK
this time.
but as usual
i'm unarmed and not briefed to take action.
all i can do
is watch her move through you
destroying all the genuineness you were born with
and turning you slowly to stone.
i'll wait,
a fool at court
only required for sideline entertainment,
and when she's left you
open-hearted and overheated
you'll wonder where you went wrong
and i'll assure you again
that you went wrong
when you chose her
over me,
her with her neat little charms.
and you'll grin at such thought,
mistaking my disdain for friendly banter
like always
thinking me a good companion
but not a lover.
never more than that
as a rule
(more on your part
than mine).
and so it goes,
and by now i'm well-learned in the subject
of you
and those neat little charms
that had me hooked when you first said,
'hey, i like your style.'
notice how i know you better
than any of the bittersweet tarts
who bargain for your time.
i know you better.
i know that you like to hear yourself talk
and that you'd die a slow, painful death
if you were forbidden to play guitar.
i know what your parents do for a living
and who you were named after
and why.
i know you prefer chunky peanut butter
like me
and i know we can harmonize like no other
when we want to
(like when we sang White Christmas at the senior center
that one time
with pride).
presently
you're occupied
with the newest plaything
who will suck your soul dry
but who am i to prevent you?
until you grow up and
graduate to me,
you'll forever be lost in familiar neat little charms
and so
i'll go.
01.2010
[this is one of the first honest pieces i ever allowed myself to write to the man who once was the muse for most of my love poetry. it's clear i had jaded views on love then, and it's interesting to see how i write about love now. this sort of evolved into more of a ranty letter to him than a poem. x]
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