ode to a condom wrapper
i wanted to believe her. i wanted to believe she could be strong.
i wanted to see her before i knew. i wanted to know she could overcome.
conversation dull. something is wrong. no greeting hug, no winning smile.
the prize she sought is already gone.
i tell her my dreams, doubt crawling in. she holds back. can she hide her shame?
she wants to know what i think. what else is new? pleasantries only serve to reveal.
i ponder my position, is it stained with lust? am i to recline on the yellowing crust?
the chair is much safer; i check my pores, still not safe from the gaze of the whore.
i enact the latent desire of my positional shift, peer into the trash.
i don't want to see it, the tiny package ripped in haste.
ahh, the true evidence almost surely disposed of, but what is this?
the shell of betrayal winks at me, slightly pissed.
oh, but now! what on earth to do!
from the bottom of my heart, a big "fuck you!"
~written after a rather traumatic realization
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