I want to tell me that you hurt me but I don’t want to blame you, because nice girls just lie down and deal with what they’re dealt and trust that no harm was intended.

I can see how you might have forgotten me,
drunk on stage lights and absurd cocktails, on pride and relief,
swept off like props, clean slate
I want you to come swinging into my Saturday like you did in my dream,
firmly apologetic alongside me, apoplectic;
and I know that beyond this contact low of mine I will know you would be,
I know you meant nothing by it and if you meant nothing it shouldn’t mean anything
but still,
couldn’t you have spared a sliver of thought for your promises?

welcome back, Plath-like crowd, to the panflute dance recital of my life;
one step forward, two steps back.