Bad Poem

I know that

I have been bad

Though I don't want to admit it, who does?

I'm well aware that I have committed the cardinal sin
of engaging in the occasional cheap shot

Though I didn't mean to. I was not thinking. That happens.

There are no excuses

it's just what happened.

I did try to notice, and remember, and attempt to become better.

This is a stupid poem.

This is a poem about how I want to hate on you

because you were so in love with the cheap shots

and because I put up with it for so long.

This is a poem of no love

just cheap shots and martyr moves.

Very boring.

I'm trying

to actually turn this into a poem

To try to see into the dark of all of this

To try to redeem you.

But I cannot.

I just can't do it.

I know you have problems.

Bad problems.

You've always had bad problems.

Thus, I should be kind

I should be forgiving

And I would, if it wasn't for

that lacuna in the middle

of all the bad stuff

where things were going relatively well for you

And you got meaner and meaner

And then I left.

I never talked to you about this. I didn't want to give you
the satisfaction of knowing that your betrayal hurt so badly.

I still think you knew. At least in the moment.

You've likely forgotten by now. You're thinking of me as another betrayer. One you cared for.

And then she left, why?

How can I explain the years of meanness?

How can I explain being told I had to submit to your friends' crappy treatment?

What is the point of even trying?

I don't even know what's happening with you anymore, though I'll likely hear, sooner or later.

Small town.

I did hear that you're paralyzed.

You're actually, physically paralyzed.

That happened. After you drove me away with your cruelty.

Be careful what you wish for.