In my black dress in the bathroom
I said, “why aren’t you more upset?”
You were tearing up blank checks and I was crying.
Listen: this is the last time you will have to see me like this.
I didn’t mean to leave a scar every time I missed
the marks you left open.
When I said I loved you
I swear I meant it. Now my skin cells have died and regrown.
The girl who said she loved you is gone.
Now I am headed home, and I’m sorry.
If I leave my lights on, do you promise you’ll call me?
If we fight again, I promise to swear that it’s fun
and I won’t be afraid when you hand me a gun.
that sometimes living is a fight for custody of good feelings
and we are too small to share everything.
Oh, I don’t mean to brag
but you have broken down your sexuality for me in black-and white,
drawn charts with the margins filled in
and I have grinned through it all.
I mean, I don’t care what you call it
as long as you’re still dreaming of lifting up my skirt and I am still standing
cold as an ice pick with my arms crossed.
I love myself when my claws come out.
At the stoplight I pulled out my pill bottles.
I tried to prove I’d done nothing right in years
but you said through bleary eyes
that I was forgiven.
I did not ask for your forgiveness.
When I say I never wanted to hurt you,
know that I’ve never wanted to hurt anybody
but that still hasn’t stopped me from pulling the flesh out
of anyone too soft to protest.
Know that if you let me,
I would pull you apart too.
Know that I loved you.
Know that sometimes,
I still do.