Unfaithful

I have not yet written this part of our story
because I wanted to get it just right.
I wanted to be sure
to accurately describe
the glisten in your eyes

as you lied to me.

It took six months for the skeletons
to wander out of your closet
and into my hands.

You sewed your lips into a satisfied grin
and muddied the waters of my memory,
weaving some half-invented tapestry
depicting your poor, broken heart.
You held it up
for everyone to see
so that each time I opened my mouth
you could slap the words out of it
and call me cold.

It must have been so
easy
to blame me
with her there to comfort you.

So tell me:
was she warmer than our bed with me in it?
Did I not cover my wounds well enough
to support the story you tell yourself
about how you would
never
hurt me?
Maybe making me cry
was just too hard on your ego.
I'm sure you made her moan plenty
to make up for it.

And after you were finished with her,
did you want what was left of me?
You must have, since you did not hesitate
to devour my skin, with the taste of hers
still lingering on your soiled tongue.
I'll bet I still felt pretty damn good
under your fingers, and I never
even had to find out
what you did.

At least, that's what you told her,
isn't it?

It took six months for the cracks in your skin
to let out the secrets you'd been keeping,
but I see through you now.

This morning, I took it out
on my own gums as I brushed them.
Blood trickled through my teeth, and
I wished it was yours, but
my smile still looks fearsome
and I still feel stronger.

So I dare you
to deny it.

My claws have been waiting
for you to point those broken fingers
at me again. I dare you to say that I am wrong.

You said that you hated my poems
before, but this will be worse.
I will write a hole through your gut.
I will burn the flesh from your hands.
I will show the world your dirty sheets.

Go ahead and tell your friends
that I broke your heart.
Tell them I am soulless.
Tell them I am a bitch.

In the meantime, I will tell your children
about every night that you fucked her
and still had the nerve
to sing me to sleep.

I will tell them how you promised
you would marry me someday
and I will tell them
how you lied.