Ghosted

a poem ‘cause we’ve all been there

Photo by Syarafina Yusof on Unsplash

Honestly, I’m a bit satisfied
that your beer belly
came back with
vengeance . . .
And, I’m not sorry that
I don’t feel
[not in the slightest]
guilty.

No, not after you used
the callous of your veins,
your “generosity”
as woolen clothing,
[hiding your teeth]
to coax my spine into an arch,
a curve, gasping,
a sigh that said
you wanted me.

And, honestly, you could have
just told me: [I am small but
I am not weak —
my bones withstood
wolves before
you.]

I was a project
you could work
between your fingers,
clay, malleable to the warmth
of your hands
worked without a sense
of responsibility.