![]() I Play to LoseA Poem by Ebits![]() A poem composed of some verbatim text from a break-up conversation, some exagerrated text, and some post break-up angst.![]()
I know what I want and I'm not gonna get it.
And each time I try, I know I'll regret it. You can't win if you don't play the game, but you can't lose either, so it's all just the same. Back to the drawing board; start again. He was almost perfect: 9 out of 10. Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you're the only ten I see! Too bad you don't want me. I'm not good enough, so "Be on your way. Sorry, now. Tough." Oh, you silly woman! You want a man who loves you completely? And doesn't date other people discretely? A man who won't put you on the back shelf? A man content with you for himself? Sorry, ladies. He's not out there. I know, I know, "It just isn't fair!" Well, so I've been told, "He doesn't exist!" with angry words and clenching fists. Oh! And I'm "delusional and insane." Well, me and all the other women who think the same about the whole imaginary man bit. Cuz the real men who really are real, well they know how they really feel, and they won't be put to shame by an impossible man with no name. "Something's wrong" with me, he claims. "No guy will do them, these things you desire!" "Well, I know you won't do them..." inside, I conspire. I know the risk I take when I try; I'll probably hurt and I'll probably cry. But stupid me takes a turn in the game, pretending that it won't end the same: with me on the losing team again. A pile of stinging, fresh pain to mend, and hiding my loser's heart in shame, cuz that's what happens when you play the game.
© 2011 Ebits |
StatsAuthor![]() EbitsShirley, NYAboutI write in spurts. Furiously at times and not at all at others. I have no form. Whatever happens, happens. more..Writing
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