10 May 2018

buried


I went to men looking for a home, for refuge, for a haven,  

things they didn’t have, and couldn’t give me

but they were all excellent liars, secret keepers,

fact stretchers, and gaslighters   

I went to men looking for comfort, all I found was abuse

even now at 37 I meet a man for the first time, and feel I’ve already heard all his lies

walking the tight rope of my heart praying never to fall again

never, in that misogynistic pit of male privilege,

I went to men looking for love

now I avoid them, like I do dark, creepy roads

I buried my disappointing encounters, the way I imagine nameless infants are buried; a mourning for something that never was, a ceremonial grief for what could have been.