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.
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7 comments:
I love the lines "he was broken/then he broke me."
Perfect.
Such an intensely personal poem... the title is so perfect for this piece.
I also really liked the title. This whole poem has a chase-like quality to it.
So intriguing - and so true how we can bend and twist our memories to suit our moods at the time. Wonderful subject to ruminate on!
Sorry! I accidentally posted my comment twice. I didn't even know I could do that!
"And though I learned
to 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.
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