jonberger

I’ve been a bad boyfriend
and a bad friend.
I’ve been sad when joy was required
and hid generosity
when that was all you deserved.
I served you but poorly
in every way I can consider.

I don’t think I’ll be seeing you much after tonight
which is all I deserve, sure,
but please
for this last time
stay with me.

I want to be with someone tonight
I need to touch someone
and though I can’t offer you
anything more
grant this final request.

You can’t fix everything.
Sometimes
you can’t fix anything.
Certainly
you can’t fix me.
So far
nothing ever has.

Give me this
undeserving as I’ve become.
Show me this ultimate kindness.
Help me see
how to love you
only now
that you’ve learned how to say goodbye.

If I knew it was the last time
I was going to see you
I probably would have cursed a lot less.
Had I known they were the last words you’d hear from me,
I might not have used “cunt” quite so much.

If I knew it would be our last touch
I would have taken the quarters out of my pants.
Had I realized what was coming next
I would have been kinder
milder
less explosive.

I would have tried to make peace
if I understood that it was to be the end
so we could have fonder memories between us
and maybe
– just maybe –
you wouldn’t have killed me.

There are no bells
no announcers
or judges.
No one watches
intentionally
as we continue
our war of attrition.

We are pain-staking
and -stricken.
We keep our distance
emotionally
physically
even electronically.

We pace
racing to opposing corners.
We chase phantom pains
and historic hurts
We fight through nights
each hoping the other
will go down
that final time.

Neither will admit defeat
before the other
though we each desperately wish
for hostilities to cease.

We seek peace.
We seek a break.
More, though
we each seek
to break pieces off the other.

It is important
that we establish
who couldn’t hack it
and gave in
and was the one
to call it quits.

It is vital
we each know
which of us
gets to be the victim.

Afterward
she glanced at my bare nipple
and chuckled,
“Ooh, I just know
you’re going to break my heart.”
Which got me hard
– so we started up again.

I was so pleased
but I should’ve been pissing myself
with laughter.
There is no one
ever
who has gotten her heart broken by me.

There were girls I liked
and ran away from them.
Girls who liked me
that made me run even faster.
There have been crushes
and relationships
and rushed affairs in backs of cars
and bars and tarps.
But I don’t believe
that I’ve ever had any power
to hurt any one of them.

I’ve never been important enough
or charming enough
or clever enough
or anything else to elicit much of a reaction
from the ladies.

I’ve made a girl cry
once or twice
but
hormones were probably involved.

So when this girl said
I was going to break her heart,
I held her close
– after the fuck –
and said,
“I don’t think so.
More likely
the reverse.”

We were both right.

If you’ve got nothing to say
why bother striving to say it?
God knows there are enough of them
out there
stuttering out their idiotic ideas
seeking an audience who cares.

If you’ve got writer’s block
or simply a difficulty
in expressing all the inanity in your soul
maybe it’s a blessing.
Maybe it’s a way out.

Do not curse your dry spell.
Your dry spell may be the thing
to save you
from an artistic life.

You can get out of this alive
if you simply say
“Stop.”

I think I have decided
that it is in my best interest
to hate you
rather than the option I had previously
been subscribed to
these last few months.

In your presence
in your sphere
– a choice currently unavailable –
I find myself smaller, shakier
more disrespected – mostly by myself.
I have stopped being
the person I most seek to be.

On your lands
wearing your leash
I am polite, considerate
or, at least,
I try.
I no longer write
for I lack the inspiration
or wherewithal to create.
In your presence
I am tamed.

With you gone,
leaving me free to roam,
I am returned to my truest self.
I can eat the cheese curls in bed.
I will drink the thousandth box o’ wine
with no one to stop me.

Alone,
mine has become
a house of rage and love
and I am
if not happy
at least again
the person I am meant to be.

So the current state
where I am abandoned
is preferable. I think,
to the alternative.
Stay away.
It is almost certainly
for the best.

In our first text exchange
you told me
"I knew you wouldn’t be one of those assholes
who wouldn’t write back."

And in our last verbal exchange
you called me an asshole
time and time again.

Between them
I have had text after text
hanging in the wind
silently waiting
for some sense of reciprocation.

The texts wait in vain
as I do
while asking myself
how I was able to turn inward
an invert
and become the asshole
you no longer choose to know.

You could have had me
any way you wanted
she said.
All terms
all conditions
were yours to define.
I was giving.
I was caring.
I was willing and able and
I might add
I was pretty
which I can say with all due modesty
since I am also
an excellent judge of beauty.

I was great for you
even when we were not great for each other
for I was considerate
and wise.
and I gave it all to you
but you were unwilling to take it.

You were unready
she said.
You were afraid.
You were not the man I hoped you were,
or thought you could be
with proper encouragement and enthusiasm.
You failed me.
You failed us.
You failed yourself.

You had it all,
she explained,
and you squandered it.
You wasted our potential
and for what?

I was silent in response
and every day
since she posed that question
I have been looking for an answer.
Will it come today?
She won’t tell me
for I have not heard from her since.

A boy
an adventurer
a beautiful warrior king
travelled the land
and he found a girl
a little peasant that he saw something in
and he looked down from his mount
and asked for her hand
or any other part she was willing to give.

And the peasant girl
stared up at the warrior / wizard / good-dancer / king
with smoky eyes
and she said no to him
explaining that his world
was not one she took comfort in
and that she found him pleasant enough
but not enough
and that he had best find another quest
to occupy his attention
– the sooner the better.

The king
always respectful of serfs
(even those in kingdoms adjacent)
sadly acknowledged the peasant’s feelings
and went on with his life
of living happily ever after.
He became the wisest leader
beloved by subjects and slutty maidens alike
and
though he thought of the peasant girl occasionally
he quickly proved himself worthy
of so much more.

The peasant girl
meanwhile
read from her father’s barn
of the ascent of the king.
Between her chores
the maid saw how respected and desired he was
and regretted her choice forevermore.

I am that peasant girl
and didn’t understand for a very long time
why I make only dumb choices
rejecting opportunities with gorgeous royalty
and sex-addict models
and rock stars in training
and
I realized
that the world cannot be filled
solely with the adventurous.
Someone has to sweep the barn
and slop the pigs.

Someone must be the coward
so the hero can be be seen
in stark relief.

The night after she took my virginity
– willingly –
she left for me on my front door
a flower
as a special gift for a special boy.
I thought it was really sweet
but I didn’t say anything
because even though I loved her
I hadn’t said it to anyone yet
– even myself –
so I was trying to play it cool
to ensure my excitement
didn’t nip our future in the bud.

It was a white carnation she left
and it was beautiful
like her
though both lost their bloom fairly quickly
and it was only after that
that I wondered
had she offered me a trade?
Replacing one flower for another?

It wasn’t a bargain I’d asked for
but
it was appreciated
nonetheless.

Other replacements soon followed:
love for betrayal
pleasure for suspicion
argument for exhaustion.
No transfer was as welcome as that first
but all lasted far longer
– some to this day.

The flower
has long since become dust.