This Isn’t Over

This isn’t over because you
arrived late to my party
with another woman
and then left with her
while I waited in the alley 
where you said you’d meet me, and
This isn’t over because you keep telling me
how hard I am 
to love, or
Because you only remember how much you
love me 
when you are facing the bottom of 
the whiskey bottle, and
It’s not even over because I miss you
too much
to trust you, because you have spent 
most of this time
absent,
or because you made me promise
never to write a poem about you.
It is not over because you know I 
cannot stop arriving when you call after midnight,
that I will show up wearing 
your favorite lipstick
no matter what you have done
It is not even over
at all.
It is not over.
It is not over 
because I am drowning myself in you
so that I won’t have to ask
the important questions
I will not have to wonder if anyone will ever
choose me
I will not have to ask if the next shooting will be
in the city where I live
I do not have to think about 
nuclear weapons
or my incarcerated comrades
or my own people’s refugees, helpless on the east coast
I will not have to ask if my cousin
is still alive
out there
Or if my father has dementia.
I am a selfish vulture 
picking at the meat of my own heart,
begging you to give me excuses
not to eat, because I enjoy starving.
You are just a shrine 
I worship at,
leaving offerings of my body
and my devotion
to the gods of 
One More Chance
because I have nowhere else to put it.
When I am with you, I want to drink myself to death,
and when I am without you, I want to fall in love with
worse men
And if I am doing either of these things
I am not talking about 
why I am afraid
to go to sleep
because I must survive your demons
instead of mine
I am letting you
wreck me
not because I am stupid, I am just
so tired.

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