a toast

you don’t want to become a character in my poems, i promise, just ask my ex. any one of them really. they’ll all tell you how unfun it is to see themselves through my eyes once the knot has come loose. i’m so good at playing the victim here where no one can argue back because none of you can shape a sentence like i can. none of you have tasted the flesh of words. & so here, i have the control, something i never seem to be able to grab ahold of in the actual living, breathing, flesh covered relationships. i’m so sick of apologies & avoidance. i think i’d rather swallow the cruel honesty of his truth than dance around in piles of baked goods with your averted eyes. call me a masochist, it doesn’t matter for i’d rather that than marionette. do you like the way i tap dance, master? or do you prefer the way you pussyfoot this foxtrot? we’re getting too old to use being a slut as a blanket, to use friendship as a quilt. either build the lego set or go back to playing jenga because these towers keep falling like it’s september 2001 & this has stopped being fun. it’s like middle school dance awkward fumbling over your hands over the note you wrote to break the news gently. you think so little of yourself except nice. nice you give yourself but it’s not worth much. you’ve got more to give but you sell yourself short & i’ve ended up with the runt. yeah yeah i’m a cunt i get it & i ruined the mood yet again. uh huh. it’s true. but i didn’t come here to make friends. i came here to play connect 2. me & you. but there is no me & you & i’m just a delusional fool but it’s the jester’s new groove & the emperor’s new clothes. we were playing follow the leader & you started playing hide & seek & no i won’t play dumb or like i’ve forgotten just because you found someone you enjoy fucking more & wanna keep me on the back burner simmering. i am no one’s stew. i’ll do the devouring, darling. i don’t think you understand the meals i’ve eaten or the carnivores that have eaten me. i’m a city girl so sit down. swallow your beer & pucker up. sucker punch to the gut. i’ll suck the life through your veins & drain your brains like it’s dawn of the dead. i am not the metaphor, i am the real deal & i will not be yo-yo, rendered a toy. santa’s workshop & stockings stuffed down my throat. at this time, i will not be taking suggestions, a vote. this is a dictatorship & i’ll have you on your knees if you press me. i share a birthday with mao zedong & baby you’re a landlord wannabe, salt in the wound & cowardly, coffee-stained, legs spread. better tip toed round then left unsaid, directly stated. better left unread than masturbated. i’m frustrated, tired, growing older by the second. bound up & wound up, second amendment. rights are illusion, who do you think i am? never tell a man you’ll settle for peanuts or he won’t even feed you from his hand. drop em in the sand & smirk as you scrounge. baby this ain’t a petting zoo or rats’ subway tracks, i’ll eat you alive, barf you right back. don’t challenge the bulimic, we won’t hold it long. never hold on but never move on. i’ll keep you in custody til you’re filled with regret. of course you’ll come back to see if i’m still dead. undead, alive, i’m risen again. coffin in the moonlight, lion’s den. i wanted more. simon says touch your toes so you can bend over & take it like a good little whore. spread your cheeks so i can see how full of shit you’ve been, my sweet. tequila sunrise, dream within a dream, giving up the truth while you sleep. etched in sorrow, etch-a-sketch. left in the lurch, rotting on the bench. i’m tired of pegging, of food going rotten. tired of feeling like spinach forgotten. the inspiration is thankful & for that i am grateful. bail out now before i am hateful. good morning, good riddance, adieu, adios. mon dieux, bon huit, we’ll end with a toast. to us, to the past, sláinte, keep it tight. to health, to posterity, gesundheit & good night.