Yesterday I was thinking about how I acted when my ex and I broke up, and I got mad at myself for being so outwardly distraught. I thought, ‘I wish I could take back those things I said and did from that night.’ And then from that thought, a poem emerged. Here it is, in blank verse [15 unrhymed lines of iambic pentameter].
Untitled. 10-23-08
I wish I could take back behaviors from
that night when we broke up. While you, in bed,
just resting, sleeping, dreaming, I, in stealth,
was checking emails, conversations with
a certain girl you met the prior week.
I savored every morsel, all the talk,
the witty banters, questions of your self
and us and did you really love me? Then
my heart was beating, pounding, racing, so
I woke you, asked you, what the fuck is this?
You said, It’s over. No discussion could
undo this pain you caused, betrayal I felt.
The crying, screaming, sobbing, rolling on
the floor, so unattractive, pitiful.
I’d take it back, but now it’s just too late.
