i do not suit either yourself
or your purposes; i know not which,
only that i feel lifted away
from you and laid aside, across the bed
to stare as you pull on your clothes
you pull on your socks, shoes
you pull on the face you wear that first pulled me into you
that made it easy for me to pull you into me,
that face that breaks when i touch you.
(yours does not, though. it is stone,
unlike his, and the cracks in his face
taught me to begrudge the smoothness of yours.)
you never hurt me
(although you did)
and i do not want this to be a heartbreak story
because i am not broken.
we never forged anything to break
(with you, though, i begged for something
anything, and you told me…you didn’t even tell me no,
you told me nothing)
and so i hold nothing against you
but the fact that you laid me aside
so abrupt and so cleanly–
without bruising, without scars,
without even pain to hold on to
(and you left me scars with no meaning
anymore, i am written all over with lines
i’ve only just realized have no signature.
you refused to leave the one thing i wanted
on me forever: your fucking name.
all i want is to know you were there)
and what now?
(and what now?)