Kat, I think I lied
to you, to me
about the state of we
– of us. That’s what I should’ve said.
I always sought the easier way to say
the words I wanted said.
I wanted you so much back then
I’d far from danger tread.

And you betrayed me often,
that’s how the story went;
how I’d describe it frequently
to all the ears I’d bent.
You’d give me jam in January,
but abandon me for Lent.

So though you hurt me commonly
on occasions multiplied,
I said it before and I’ll repeat
it’s possible I lied
about degrees and expectations
and speciously amounts,
for though we broke up thrice,
twice I can discount.

You left me for an old boyfriend
from whom I’d stolen you
and then again an older one
from your old high school crew.
In truth, these sort of silly actions
should have been expected
from the kind of girl you proved
to be, in retrospective.

And I had been collecting silver bolts and screws to give
to show you how I could trust you with love I had to live.
As my faith in you grew, the screws, too, grew in shape
and when you left me finally, no bigger than a grape
was the final screw I’d offered, so little trust was shared. You hadn’t earned my faith again; in you I hadn’t dared.

So I’m sorry for bad-mouthing you,
providing the bad rap.
I was bitter and mean spirited;
a simpleton sad sack.
It’s been so many years now,
I just thought, “What’s the harm?
If you’re free, could you and me
see if fourth time’s the charm?”