somewhere in your free time,
in between you working your biceps muscles
lifting the remote
or mouth muscles referring to me as a "whore" or "slut"
(whichever you preferred at the moment),
you tried to convince me
that moving to Virginia
would be like walking onto the set of "Cheers"
where everybody knows your name
and they're always glad you came
and I'd spend my free time cooking your meals
and cleaning your house and doing your laundry
and defending what little bit of dignity
you thought I didn't have left.
we were over long before we left each other.
(because who really left who is up in the air
since we both did our share of walking.)
and I've folded my arms on leaving here.
leaving home.
because the only people that need to know my name,
are the ones that already do.
and they're always glad I came...
