It matters....
he was....
my first man,
drifting in and out of the shadows
through darkened parking lots I
sought him,
chased his bitter soul down
down
down
the maze his twisted mind made
He never knew how I craved
simple, normal things.
He was broken and then he
broke me.
And though I learned
to trace every crack in his
psyche
and his every stain became my own
he remained aloof
an empty man,
hollowed in all the places
I needed to find solace.
and soon I was too.
But
It doesn’t matter....
he did it....
no, he didn’t....
change it all to suit me now
my first man wasn’t anything like that.
Note- This is my Poetry Thursday contribution. The theme this week was change. I wasn't feeling inspired to write something new ( this has been a pretty down week for me) so I posted this poem that speaks of changing memories.
I love the lines "he was broken/then he broke me."
ReplyDeletePerfect.
Such an intensely personal poem... the title is so perfect for this piece.
ReplyDeleteI also really liked the title. This whole poem has a chase-like quality to it.
ReplyDeleteSo intriguing - and so true how we can bend and twist our memories to suit our moods at the time. Wonderful subject to ruminate on!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSorry! I accidentally posted my comment twice. I didn't even know I could do that!
ReplyDelete"And though I learned
ReplyDeleteto trace every crack in his
psyche
and his every stain became my own
he remained aloof
an empty man..."
These lines speak out to me. I like this.
gautami
Transposition.