Who is at fault for the demise of our unfortunate,
sorry excuse for a relationship? You or me?
Right from the start, it was a fight
to revive the dead; we blame each other
for losing sight of what was valuable, and that’s
the only agreement we’ve reached to date.

For the first time in a long time, she can
genuinely smile without throwing salt
over her shoulders or knocking on wood
out of fear that her happiness will be
short-lived because of her involvement
with a man who felt miserable in his skin.
His sole mission was to make her feel
uncomfortable in her place of rest; he frowned up
on anyone with a smile, so her beautifully sculpted
teeth stayed hidden, overtime the light
from her eyes became dim;
only her fears came to life.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired
I complain more than I care to admit
often playing it off like I don’t fuss at all
(about anything), miss goody-two-shoes,
but I’m the major culprit
dropping bars behind the curtains.

I think about him, and I think about him;
I try to forget about him but end up thinking
about him more. I keep longing for his presence,
so I try to think about something else,
struggling miserably, trying to ease
my troubled mind I want to forget
about him, but no matter what I do
I can’t seem to get him off my mind.

No one can love me the way I love myself
or care for me the way I care for myself.
As long as I am happy, I don’t need
anyone else’s approval; there’s nothing wrong
with unlimited self-reflection.

Marriages, these days
operate like a betting game
—heads or tails—
it has a 50/50 survival rate,
and few will put in the hard work.