This is the last thing I wanted
to write you this particular poem

to tell you that I have nothing to say that hasn’t been said

that my worthiness
dances
on the head of a pen and that pen died
because it came from that dollar store with the weird off-brand markers with the giggly name and glowing white jesus lamps

Remember?

this poem is a half-dead bouquet of yellow-dyed carnations with the receipt still stuck to the wrapper

this poem is nothing but a box we check to get where we are going

this poem is a bullshit apology for broken promises and resurrected shame

it’s

“I’m sorry, but if you’d just listen…”