This Isn’t An Apology, Because I Am Unrepentant, But It Is An Explanation

I wanted it to be beautiful,
but it never is,
just a scratched up, sour thought in the back of my mind,
a bittersweet beat that plays in my head,
ricochetting round each of my bones,
until my whole body is a song,
but, my God, it’s a sad one.

I never loved you,
but it broke me to leave you,
because all I had was a cassette full of my chaotic attempts to make it work,
and worthless words,
stanzas about standing up for myself,
promises to be true to myself,
which never happens,
no matter how many times I write it.

We were both unclean,
undone by our untruths,
and I can lie to myself again,
tell myself a tale about how it was justified,
because I have always had a role to play,
and it was all just a game,
so what does it matter if your touch told me to throw out a rehearsed response?
Who is really hurt if you got to sleep in the serene bliss of your afterglow,
and I got to pretend to be “normal” for six months?

I picked you,
because you reminded me of my first “boyfriend”,
who was a horrible bastard,
and in a mix of Catholic guilt and my own personal brand of penitence,
I decided I needed to be punished,
so I wrapped myself around you,
like a sweet, swindled snake,
surrounded you with starry eyed gazes,
that should have been sent to my true desire,
and I told you that I loved you,
because lying to men is my kink,
and I won’t be shamed in my own home.

I let you be the sun, for a second, so don’t be ungrateful.

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