1.)

“You’ll never be the mother 
of my children,” you said 
on our third date. 
But you did pay for the sushi.         
I was just being honest.

You didn’t come to see me
when a rash attacked my body
so badly that my eyes swelled shut.
But offered your sister’s advice.
I asked how I could help.

“This isn’t affection,” you said
putting your arm around my waist,
pointing out the convenient height of my hips.
But you kissed me later that day.                   
I was kidding.

You made it clear early 
and often 
that I was not important.
But called me unfairly pretty.                   
I never misled you.

I brought you wooden hangers
for your closet, secondhand
just like you asked.
The old ones, plastic and wire, 
scatter-piled on top of your bed.
A few of them broke
from how hard you pushed me.
I was shocked that you did not
apologize. Zero goddamn sense
that you had taken things too far.
You like it rough, though.

I tried to find the conditions
under which you were capable 
of believing that I was worth keeping.
No arrangement was successful.
You said yourself, different life stages.

Remember that friend of yours
who risked your life on the side of a cliff?
You told me his girlfriend died
while with him on a climbing trip.                                       
Your point?

I’ll bet he also made it clear
early and often
that she was not important.
If only he’d rejected her.

You’re welcome.

2.)

They say that people 

treat us the way we allow.

“Don’t be a victim.”

It wasn’t my job

to remind you to play nice,

to teach you respect.

The tao is gonna

call you out on all your debts.

The ledger always trues up —

eventually.

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