Will Bland, “Demolition Woman”
Every other week it’s something else, something new.
The same cat and mouse
round and round running back into my arms,
you weep and whine.
We sit along the cold wood floor,
your head in my lap as I play with each strand,
presently listening to your pains
caused by someone who has always been less than a man.
You wave to the land, way up north,
I stand arms wide yet you appear unsure.
Is it because of my higher pitched voice?
My body mass unbuilt,
or the ego I have that never makes too much noise?
Every moment we share
I’ve never once made you question if I ever cared.
Handpicked flowers at your disposal,
a homecoming proposal, poised poems for every gift.
I’ve always thought of you first but you still run back to him.
I knew you first, but I know you better
So I swallow my pride and choke down every letter.
Supporting your delusions and awfully thought out conclusions.
Then I deepen my voice, and soften my eyes
as the lies fall through my lips.
The connection between you and him was real, I promise.
Your face gleams with hope brightening the hovering cloud of doom.
You run down south to drown in his waves,
away from the land.
I’ll never be him
or at all,
yet my love for you still stands.
Even though you’ll always see me
as less than a man.
