“Stealing gold from the silver they see. But it’s not me.” —”City,” Sara Bareilles
I thought he was your soul mate, the man of your dreams. The broken man in the corner right there, where you left him two years ago.
It’s amazing what reinvention does to the human spirit, aided and abetted by your 1,000-plus followers who don’t know your checkered past. Or maybe, don’t care.
Because you can always take out the trash in style.
Because you were poor.
Beauty buys so many things, loyalty, principle, truth.
I stand here in your shadow, wife of, two damaged knees, a magical hole in my heart and slits for brains. I will always be ugly. I will always be fat. I will always be your damaged, ultimately failed pet project.
I can’t and I won’t reach out for yet another empty gesture.
You chose her, now choke on it.