deepundergroundpoetry.com
Why Me?
“Why me?” she asks with a smile in her eyes as I stumble and murmur and vaguely reassure. She never holds it against me. I’ve never been quick or nimble when it comes to improvisation.
So we hug and we kiss and sometimes we fuck, and I try to forget the momentary surprise and dismay I see tattooed on her face when my response can be summed up “I don’t know.”
Because I always forget to tell her about our first slow dance, when she ran her fingers through my hair, put her head on my shoulder, and got makeup on my heart. And I can never remember to remind her of how she made me wait forever. For her I waited longer than I was used to waiting. Much longer than any of the ones sharpied on my door. Or I never think to discuss the metaphysics of our relationship; how she saved me from my Bizarro self, healing the broken edges and soothing the savagery of the me I never wanted to be.
One day I’ll remember to tell her the many ways in which I love her. One night I’ll recall to her everything she means to me. Until then, she’ll simply have to settle for the simple reply that I love her beautiful heart shaped ass.
--For my ex-wife Shannon
4/7/09 (a little over a year before she left me)
So we hug and we kiss and sometimes we fuck, and I try to forget the momentary surprise and dismay I see tattooed on her face when my response can be summed up “I don’t know.”
Because I always forget to tell her about our first slow dance, when she ran her fingers through my hair, put her head on my shoulder, and got makeup on my heart. And I can never remember to remind her of how she made me wait forever. For her I waited longer than I was used to waiting. Much longer than any of the ones sharpied on my door. Or I never think to discuss the metaphysics of our relationship; how she saved me from my Bizarro self, healing the broken edges and soothing the savagery of the me I never wanted to be.
One day I’ll remember to tell her the many ways in which I love her. One night I’ll recall to her everything she means to me. Until then, she’ll simply have to settle for the simple reply that I love her beautiful heart shaped ass.
--For my ex-wife Shannon
4/7/09 (a little over a year before she left me)
Published 9th Oct 2013
| Edited 11th Oct 2013
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9th Oct 2013 10:12pm
This kinda reminds me of myself. Something I felt for somebody I use to know. I liked it, it felt real.
10th Oct 2013 4:44am
thank you! the sad thing is that when i wrote it, i thought it was something she would like, like it was complimentary that i couldn't express why i loved her other than the fact that she had a great ass...
like there was no problem with me consistently putting off telling her (or even better showing her) what she meant to me. but we resented each other so much by then, that even had i told or showed her, it's doubtful things could have been salvaged...
like there was no problem with me consistently putting off telling her (or even better showing her) what she meant to me. but we resented each other so much by then, that even had i told or showed her, it's doubtful things could have been salvaged...
11th Oct 2013 3:19am
I'm digging this. It's like a stark stream of consciousness. You keep surprising me, zen.
11th Oct 2013 9:04am
why thank you! stream of consciousness is one of my favorite writing styles. probably cuz of all the acid...
11th Oct 2013 8:16pm
that would do it. my hands can't keep up with mine but i'm working at it every day. a lot of writers use tape recorders, but i'd end up rocking out and never get any poetry done
