for once you surprised me
when you showed up on my doorstep.
you told me i didn't have any answers
but then you asked for them anyway.
with your hands outstretched.
i almost told you to stop being
a vain and destructive false idol
before you turned your adoring fans
into nothing but the pavement under our feet
but you don't get it.
you're an empty bottle.
you're a shotgun shell.
you're a stormy day.
you're a summer clothing catalog.
you're the bike i had when i was ten years old.
you're a candle stub.
you're the ties that used to bind me to this place.
look, just go home, okay?
i don't want you.
3 comments:
I feel like this is the ode of all unwanted things ever. It makes me feel bad for the unwanted things. You so emotacular.
all of your recent poetry makes me feel guilty, dirty, pitiful, strong, and rebellious in one fell swoop. it's quite a lot to handle. congratulations for inspiring such complexity.
well, hopefully you don't secretly hate me, but since you are rarely explicit about the inspiration behind your poetry, i often imagine everything you write is about me.
and if everything you write is about me, especially these last three? poems, then you probably secretly hate me.
that is all. i'm pretty much a head case.
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