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The new one says
I like you.
I say, I like you, too.
We continue driving
barely touching fingers.
That new one
with his easy smile
that I sense is not so easy.
The new one
who will never win my complete adoration
Typical manspeak he meant it as a compliment
I like hanging out with you
and that is the same as saying
Between Birth and Decay
My aunt had cancer.
Actually, she still does.
It’s just rotting with her bones in an underground cavern.
Between birth and decay,
it’s the suffering that counts.
Two other aunts have cancer now.
Don’t they deserve it, never coming to visit
never seeing the suffering until the end.
More endings coming forthwith.
My ex-boyfriend had gone to Miami for four days in April.
I know because I drove him from the airport.
He went to a strip club.
He met and took pictures of girls he met there.
One night on the town, three pictures of these girls.
I know because one morning after he’d gone to work, I looked through the pictures on his camera.
Six months with me, not a one picture did he take.
I know because I was there.
I know because he’s so predictable.
I know because I drove him to the airport.
My dog had a bone
but no meat on it
not even much of a scent
where there should have been flavor and bite
My friend nodded
saying it’s a shame
puppies having puppies
but she didn’t know better
She just wanted a chance at a real bone
but she has the real thing now and I give her bacon-flavored bones everyday
See poeticgrin.com for the rules of this exercise.
Note: “Miami” and “Bones” appear to have 11 lines; however, there is one line in each that is too long for wordpress’s sensibilities.
Am I going to kill my mother? My Aunt Ty died. Now, two other aunts on that same side of the family have cancer. These three aunts have at least one thing in common: they always swore that there’d been a mistake and I was their daughter. My aunts soon to be dead or already so. And I wonder, if I’ve killed my other mothers, am I going to kill my own mother.
So this is simultaneously it
end of him, end of him
the two of them should run off together
bound by their would-be wounded souls
unchained to my inconvenience and instability.
I should give the international one’s number
to the local one
both law enforcement sorts
I entrapped them both
Or better yet
I know I was jilted because of my freckles, at least once.
Two, maybe four, times for my hair.
They always said they liked short girls but when you’re trying to get laid, that’s probably the thing to say.
Let me reiterate. Air Force John was a douche. His hobbies included cuddling, talking about a possible mental breakdown, and watching Wifeswap. I give him respect for getting drunk with a priest.
Any insecurity you have is the exact
reason you’ve been jilted.
Trust me, it was the gargantuan zit you had on your face that killed it
This other guy, he fished all day and called himself self-employed. He lived off his father and got fat. His picture was super old, which led to unbearable disappointment. His hobbies included swatting away giant roaches that were on the booth I was sitting in and spouting on endlessly about his political viewpoints, which were not favorable to Hil (I set him straight).
Seriously, don’t make excuses for him.
It’s all you.
One guy was a decent date aside from his gaunt appearance and bulging bug eyes. I’m not sure what his hobbies were because the two times I saw him, I kept thinking of words that rhymed with his last name (Ooouly). I didn’t come up with anything. Another guy ate a raw steak he did not want (spent the whole dinner grimacing and choking it down despite my helpful suggestion that he could send the plate back), ate all foods with his hands, and got hammered enough that I drove myself home in his car. I didn’t want to know what his hobbies were, but clearly he was breaking up with me in the form of my breaking up with him.
It never matters who’s actually done the jilting.
It’s your terrible foot odor and your misaligned posture that did it in.
You’re not graceful, as evidenced in your many, many injuries resulting
from painful, full-scale fall-downs.
This is all your fault.
I felt trapped in a parking lot downtown after a so-so dinner with this one dude. Nice, but no thanks. His hobbies included sticking his cold dead fish tongue down my throat and not anticipating that when kissing a girl, you should keep in mind that her mouth is not the size of a horse’s. Don’t worry. For his efforts, I bit him.
All of which bring us back you (and me).
I support the anti-bullshit; you’re not that pretty.
If you think you are satisfied in your relationship, I suggest looking at
the cellulite in your thighs one more time.
It could be the end.
I’m sad to say I will not be adopting Ro. The foster family said she needed a companion dog. Forget that I would provide her with a permanent home, instead of a halfway house. Apparently at this particular Humane Society, the fosters get the final say and not the organization. The HS apologized to me because they said they had no idea that the fosters were insisting on another dog. They said they would update the website to include this information. I was terribly hurt and angered by this judgment. I was rejected and dejected. I internalized and then externalized. Dear Bryan is fired up. My other friend said that it was ridiculous. My mother even got up in arms and she’s the sweetest person in the world (but don’t mess with her little girl, understand?). I was really touched by the support.
There other dogs I am looking at, of course. Some beagles and Bryan has convinced to me to go take a look at another Humane Society.
The seven-day forecast is gloom. A happy time for me even if the pressure makes my head hurt. There’s always rain aplenty if you look hard enough. I do.
Note: I may or may not be finished with this. I’m not sure if I want to do anymore or if this is just some thought that I had to get out for the time being.
Medicated Lady has decided she needs a dog. Although she was sure 2 labs would make the perfect pets, she decided that perhaps two dogs as big as she is was not necessarily a good thing.
ML has spent days looking for a doggy at various shelters. She thinks it’s fine if other people want to pay for certain breeds but she personally thinks the money should go toward adopting them and for supporting the rescue organization. Plus, these dogs can be in these places for years.
ML has decided she wants a Beagle named Rosie. She doesn’t love the name but she doesn’t hate it either. Bryan says it would be too traumatic to change it because she’s an adult dog. Medicated Lady wonders if she can nickname her “Ro.” She does not know why this name seems better than Rosie but somehow it does.
Ro is supposed to be a calm dog and she’s a little thing. Although there’s a bit of fear for her mental health but ML can offer love and extreme emotional responses to both minute and grand-scale trauma/drama.
Bryan and another friend say she is adorable. They say she is perfection. ML can’t help but agree.
So the only impulsive behavior ML feels is to just go and adopt her as soon as possible. Forget formalities.