I saw you today.
Got stopped at that hateful stoplight
on my bike
right before the hill,
and you looked lost
outside of The Garment District.

You had shorts on and were looking
in my direction.

Not as pretty as any of your MySpace pictures,
which was oddly comforting as well as
annoying.
You have short, thick legs.

Mine are way better.

Your chin is something I could grab onto
in the case of a hurricane or
flood.

But it's not your fault he left with you
that night,
long time ago.

And me, well, I am just having a hard time
getting over it.

I know he hurt you, too,
by staying with me.

But maybe you were the lucky one
in the long run.

I wish I could be more eloquent,
but more than that,
I wish I could find some white-out
that is swallowable,
and erases the words that create the memory
of him telling me
he didn't want to go home with me
and me saying
you're a fucking idiot.

Because he was.

But now it might be me
who is the fucking idiot,

either for staying with him after something like that,
or staying with him
and not letting this go.

Either way,
you came out the winner.


So far.

09/22/2008

Posted on 09/23/2008
Copyright © 2024 Anastasia Selby