the whole thing is fleeting.

with a click and a dialtone,
once again, we are uprooted.
which is fine, considering.
we aren't speaking,
you
only scream at me, saying,
"you stupid, boy!"

i'm not a boy.
i want to tell you that.

but i don't,
and as the tears
of blood fall down my face,
(though to you they are naught
but invisible ink)
i let my arms fall,
once again,
defeated.

04/16/2003

Author's Note: jennifer, my ex-girlfriend, always calls me a stupid boy since i'm a butch. it drives me crazy. hence the poem.

Posted on 04/17/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe