I Don’t Love You Anymore

Sometimes,
broken eggs make for
pretty great omelette,
eggshell white
promise
I’d only know with out
its yolk .

I’d clean up folk tales and their fork-tailed mistruths,
pick up pieces that used to be a womb,
acquiesce to kitchen
floor massacres
because all that matters
is hadn’t
something been ruined

our something new
would have
scattered,

ashes of an
ever after,

a runaway thought I
never mused on
before.

This one was
for her,

never for you.

Free Verse ReVolution

Finally I’m
free of
second
guessing, obsessing over
unpressed suits your walks
of shame
awakened.

The creases aren’t mine
but each
wrinkle defined how
unkempt my
diatribes
were.

I’ll admit I
was taken by your
adjacent soul, emotionally
compromised
goals.

Like spur-of-the
moment verbs, the
adjectives
lost
trying to
describe your
paradox show.

I have
postulated, nearly
emasculated
myself to fit like
a square block into
your circular
Hell.

So here, all
my years of effort
culminate in open
letters to my
closing
door,

suitcase cords
dragging on
the
sidewalk behind
you, in sync with
shoes your
insignificant
others
gave you.

The suits finally
pressed, futures best
left unexplored.

You look as sharp as
ever but I don’t
love the
look on
you anymore.

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