I just heard
all about the party you had
without me.
It sounds
like it was a fucking good time.

I’m not sad
and I’m not angry
that I never received an invitation
– except I am both those things
as well as hurt
and confused about the nature
of our relationship.
I really thought I might merit an invite.

And clearly
I don’t get to decide who likes me
or who thinks I’ll be a good match
for the other guests
or who thinks I might
"eat too many chips"
or "clog up the toilet
for weeks to come."
I can’t control other people’s reactions
to me.
All I can do
is be the best me
I can be.
If that doesn’t match up
with your wants and needs,
then so be it.

And who am I
to be so concerned?
I mean,
I’m like the anti-Groucho.
I would never want
to go to a party
where I wasn’t wanted
– except vindictively.

It sounds
like I might have been miserable
at a place filled with folks
who didn’t want me there
or had reason to exclude me.
It is certainly
for the best
that I didn’t make the cut.

I’m glad it was a good time,
but I’ll bet
I probably had just as good a time
alone with my pudding pops.