November 11, 2009
Normal, IL
I know your parents’ anniversary
I know it unlocks your home
And I know that I’m not welcome
Oh I know that if I really waned to
I could still knock on your door
And your mom would tell me
That you’re not home
But the couch is new
And that Kobe didn’t make it
Through the winter.
She’d tell me that you’ve been
Looking for a new gardener
And your neighbor still says
I’m the bomb dot com
And her daughter is growing up
So fast
It was so fast, the way
Out futures turned.
The day I decided that I couldn’t stay,
I turned off my phone and
Wrote you a letter
On the floor of my
Not-yet-furnished bedroom
I was ashamed
Because everything about me
Was screaming poverty
And you were always rich
In everything
From your life to the way
You considered death
And love
It was so fast
The way my fingers flew across
Four pages of
Perfectly scripted lies
To tell you that I couldn’t love
Withot you
But I had to try to live
I let your memory slip
And tried to let you go
In the arms of a boy
But my mouth never stopped
Shaping your name
And I’m pretty sure he never
Got used to the idea of
Being called Victoria
So I let him go too
And I let you find me
I gave you the satisfaction
Of telling me I was wrong
I was most wrong in the act
Of letting you edge in
Of giving myself hope again
For something that never was
I don’t regret not knowing
If there could have been
Something more than skin.
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