I don't want to write a poem about what I didn't choose
I don't want to write a poem about
what I didn't choose.
Too much!
I didn't choose the V-neck 'til
thirty, married, hoping
to reclaim him.
I didn't choose to say no.
So many times it hurts to think of
how I just held my breath and prayed
he--or it-- would go away,
that the someone--anyone--
would swoop down from above
to save me.
Always stars
and princes
and God. I didn't choose.
I didn't choose the table.
I didn't choose the car.
I didn't choose the movie, even.
And when I did choose...
I was right; It wasn't easy.
I had to roar, lion-hearted
and I am still bathing the wounds opened
by the words you said in revolt of my choosing,
particularly that one WMD--
I never loved you anyway.
So, thank you very much, but
I'd rather write about what I choose.
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