Dear Future Ex-Boyfriend:
It's true that I will likely
drive you a little bit nuts.
I don't mean to, but I find that there
is something quite charismatic in the frenzy of
ill-fated relationships. If I'm fucking you,
you can be sure that there is already something I've realized about
our connection that cannot possibly work.
It's why I like you. I'm sorry.
But please know that when I told you
that sometimes, I really just want to make out,
I meant that you could make out with anyone you wanted to,
and yes, if you made out with the hot girl that
works at Serio's deli, I would still allow you back in my bed,
and chances are, I would say "well done old chap, she's quite the babe"
and I would think about her the next time I sucked you off.
But I am also sort of frustrated, lover.
I wanted you to need me in that sort of shrugged shoulder way
that wanted to come home to me.
I wanted your hands grazing the elastic in my underwear
as I fell asleep. And I wanted to be the moan you
collapsed into when you sunk into my bedclothes.
I meant it when I said that you don't just spend
four nights out of the week with someone
you're just playing house with.
That I avoided my responsibilities and wasted so much money
on gas and train tickets just to dance in front of you
and then undress for later.
That when you laid me on my back in the bed of your
flatbed truck and told me to touch myself,
I did it, because I wanted you to know
how comfortable I felt with you watching me.
And when you said, that I was someone you couldn't
just "fuck around with" and left me in the parkinglot
of that farmer's market right before it rained,
I was thinking, chewing on one of those tea-tree oil toothpicks,
that I'd been had.
And that you were somehow getting more than
just a slap in the face by someone
who probably could have loved you better in a year or two. Love, The girl who probably shouldn't have given you her number at that concert

11/13/2009

Posted on 11/13/2009
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