written january 2025
Happy Birthday! it says,
with an uncharacteristic exclamation mark
that shoots through me a furious spark
that he's still pretending nothing's wrong.
he adds, I left a card and some cookies with your mother.
i don't want your blood guilt obligation cookies,
baked so you can wash your conscience clean with ease
as you wash the flour off your sinful hands—
Out! damned spot! One, two—
in your fancy new sink where the dishes accrue,
set into fancy marble counters
while my family flounders to pay the rent.
i don't want your cheque,
trying to pay me off for my pain,
to eradicate your shame at having to say
that i won't talk to you anymore.
your penitence is meaningless—
False face must hide what the false heart doth know—
when it bookends a one-sided war.
and i certainly don't want your horrible cop-out Hallmark card,
which, though meant to lower my guard,
just proves once again that you don't know me at all,
because although I walk away scarred—
Yet do I fear thy nature—
you still try to enthrall me,
but all you really do is appall me.
because in reality—
There's daggers in men's smiles
—I just want you to forget about me.
What's done cannot be undone.