Mad

broken-cup-2-16787794

K. Barratt

 

He came home and told me the truth.

The truth, after the lie. Lies. And he

Stood there, as Michelangelo after

Finishing La Pieta, expecting a round

Of applauses, I guess. After all, he

Had been brave. He had owned his mistake

And told the truth. After the lies.

After the carefully crafted lies, a polished

Rosary that extended back years. One,

After the other, in perfect symmetry,

Smooth, beautifully round, the lies.

He told them all, as a school boy talking

About the summer holiday. In minute

Detail, he said them. Each and everyone

Of them, because he wanted a fresh start.

With me, of all people.

And he looked at me surprised at my

silence. The therapist came into

The conversation. Apparently

This confession would set him free to really

Love me and commit to us,

So he and I  would become a “we”.

And then he came and hugged me,

Promising that if I did my part, “we” would be alright.

As if I had lied. Betrayed. Shredded his heart

Into so many chards that some of them were

Still missing, probably forever. He hugged me

Harder and shed a tear, speaking of futures

And plans and I wished I could have joined

Him, but the well of my tears is now a dried,

Empty hole, with some mud at the bottom

And nothing more. And he then  let out one last

Pearl, the final lie, to really, fully

Purify his soul. And I lost it.

How dare he? After the hell

He built for me, the dungeon

Where I lied to myself to not lose faith

In him, in us, in “we”, doubting

My eyes, my thoughts, biting my lips

To not ask, to not spell out what

Was tormenting my mind, bringing

Myself down, because, surely,

He would not do this to me,

His love was real, as real as was his

Absence, his void, even when he

Was present; real as his indifference

To the flowers of my spirit, those

I shared with him in an intimate

Communion, where the only one opening

The doors of her soul was me.

And he was going to erase away all that

Pain, all that rage, all that desperation

With a revelation and a tear?

The hell he was.

I shoved, I pushed, I screamed.

I threw and broke and smashed.

I laughed and weep and hissed.

He called me mad.

And I proved him right.

 

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