Poetry

22. heirloom

heirloom

It was not my body there
With you
Dripping sweat, not blood
Because blood can tell the truth
(and we were never as honest)

It was a girl (familiar),
With ribbons spiraling down
The abyss of sugar.

It was her body,
(not-mine)
That you ravaged.

This girl was the downfall
Of men with starched collars.
I am not the end of anyone,
(but me.)

 I am nobody’s undoing,
As she was.
I am nobody’s
Girl.

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