Shotgun (poetry)

I wish I’d hear news of your death
I’d be winded
Overcome with giddy
You think I’m kidding?

I’d start a committee
Organize their pity
Piss on your city
Sorrow is silly

He likes to use the word “our”
But I’m not allowed in his yard
At any hour
The wind blows hard

I need to bunker down
Spend six months alone
Get out of this town
Let him feel the undertow

I’m reactive
Chemical explosive proactive
Positive attracted
Faith compacted

“Baby’s not allowed to see”
Words said cruelly
Cut right through me
Trust left fully
Got nowhere left to be

He wants me in a red bow
Lingering low
Black night and espresso
Staggering combo

He’s not a friend
He’s a one-way street
To a dead end
Devil called “shotgun” seat

I spend too much time and money for simple validation
Guys are cheap
There’s never a rose or coffee waiting
But another message complaining they are aching
Meanwhile, bills are paid and fridge is full – none of which they are responsible for
None of them would pick me off the floor
So I’m closing my own door

It feels redundant
Swimming up a current
I know I’m not stunning
Losing’s unbecoming

I deserve the cold earth
Rotting in the ground
Born with so little worth
Not gonna stick around

Kink and Coffee
Blowjobs and toffee

© Delia Ross. 2022 / @poeeternal

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