PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I went through a drawer of old momentos of a past love,

I talked with my mother on the phone,

    About her dating a new man so soon after my fathers death,

And no matter how I look at the two situations,

    Of love, loss and rebirth in relationships...

It hasn't helped me to understand...

    What in the hell happened.



I know my ex read my poems page,

And I still read hers.

I find some beautiful things there,

In her lyrical lines of love in verse.

Sometimes, she writes about despair better than I do.

Yet, I couldn't figure it all out.



She claimed to be pregnant--and wasn't.

Then I found an old diary of hers--

    It chronicled all her so called pregnancies.

In the year I knew her, I never saw a photo--

    Of the son she said she had.

She claimed to have a degrees,

    In computer science and a masters in Philosophy--

    But after looking into several colleges,

    Going through public record, she had no degrees.



Yet, she made me feel so special,

    So loved, so wanted, so desired.

However, now I know that in certain terms she cheated on me.

All those hours she spent at Doctors offices--

    Trying to decide on what to do medically with the baby?

What was she doing?  Who was she doing?

It didn't take a genius to deduce this one.



I thought I felt the ultimate betrayal,

When she filed a restriction from stalking order on me.

(Just so you know, her allegations were without merit,

According to the Judge...and anyone with any common sense.)

I thought I felt betrayed when just weeks after she left me,

She moved into another woman's home.

(But no, she wasn't cheating.)



My friend and I had a bet going,

That my ex would end her relationship with this new woman,

He said, "I bet she ends it in less than nine months."

I said, "I give it a year from the time she met her."

In some respects, I think we were both right.



My ex, supposedly lost our Baby in October,

And I figured if the relationship was going sour,

She'd use this anniversary date of sorts to claim,

"You don't care about me!  

I've lost a child and I feel hollow and empty."

No matter what her current lover would do,

It just would not fix things.



Then I have seen her leave this woman,

But I've never spoken with my ex's recent ex.

My ex, used another woman up, and moved on.

I started to see what a leach my ex was.

And I admit, her coy seduction works.



But for a year,

I felt stupid.

I should have seen her coming.

But the more she wrote about the woman she left me for,

The more I realized that my ex's new lover--

Wasn't seeing the Mack truck coming head on.



Now, my ex is consuming another soul.



Recently, I went through a drawer...

It had many memories of our relationship.

I found poems she wrote me, and for a moment,

I felt that familiar specialness she bestowed upon me,

ALL OVER AGIAN.



It felt good,

Knowing I was her first woman,

Her first real orgasm.



But then, I checked out her sight, again.

And I read a poem she wrote me, about me, devoted to me,

She now devoted to this new love of hers.



I no longer feel special,

And really, that is okay,

It just makes concrete what I've learned about her.

She probably rewrote those poems for me,

That she wrote for someone else,

Or stole from someone else outright.



I'm not angry,

I'm not discouraged,

I'm not over-joyed,

I'm not vengeful.

Yet, in some crevaces of my mind and heart,

I finally have resolution.



In some instances, I pity her more than her new partners.

Her new partners will heal, and move on,

Just like me, just like her latest victim,

But she'll never find love or happiness,

No matter how many times she thinks she has finally gotten it.

She'll never know lovership,

Or be able to understand intimacy or marraige,

Because she wants it all to be about her,

For the sake of her,

And rarely makes it much farther than the honeymoon stage.



I don't know what to think,

What should I feel?



I guess, I'm just feeling like,

I'll be leary of the next person in my life,

Who offer's me poetry with heavy loaded words,

Like "Destiny, Fate, and I didn't know what love was,

Until I found you."



I used to think it must be nice,

Trying to live in that glass house,

Where image and the imagination is everything.

But reflections don't hold relationships together,

And shelteredness doesn't prepare one for lifes ups and downs.

Not only that but glass houses offer no intimacy,

You can see right through motives,

And when rocks are thrown,

The smoke disappears.



SHE will always be persecuted by her own tongue.

SHE offered me and everyone else lies,

And when the truth came around...

Those walls came down.



SHE has moved from state to state,

From city to city...

Because her story's are best selling fiction.

She gets caught in her own traps

Of deceit and delusion.

And I really do think,

She'll happen onto someone someday,

Who won't take it from her anymore.

They'll think that she was trying to make a joke out of them.

Humiliation is a hell of a thing,

And I pray that I never read an obituary,

Highlighting my ex's life.



Although, it might be an interesting read--

Maybe her victims would finally have truth and resolution.



I don't know what to think,

I don't know what to feel,

Yet I'm gratful, yes, gratful...

She came into my life, and because of her...



I GREW UP.