I bowed out gracefully in a quiet attempt to escape
after a hushed toned conversation about not giving a fuck
about friendship all those miles apart
a misunderstanding between two people. us. love.
I didn’t have enough heart to tell the people I walked
wasn’t sure it made much sense or that it would to them
too many pictures and poems they’ve seen documenting this thing
wasn’t sure it made much sense or that it would to friends
because after anxious embraces at airport baggage claims
and fucking sans condoms with few thoughts of plan b pills
it didn’t make sense
we wanted children
we wanted children
we wanted children
but instead miscarried the love
kick push aborted these dreams
there will be no front porch swings
or lemonade nor will we get tangled
in oxygen tank cords you will not
love me writing with arthritis and leaving
poems with letters under my pillows like
you did back then
saying…
“save this to show to the kids as proof of our undying love”
now I’m just singing along to a new drake song
“don’t fuck with me, don’t fuck with me…”
staring at this mess of love on the floor beneath me
happy that you’re not here with me
hoping that you will indeed forget me
that you’ll hate me
because it’s easier to make sense of
why you can’t fully love me
and I can’t fully love you.
