Self Preservation

Tie me to a post,
and set me on fire.
I am worn with being
told I find it easy
to walk away from
people, places and things.
I am heart sore that
you know me so little
to think that I do
any leaving behind
with flippant ease.
It is not about you,
as hard as that may
be to believe.
My exit strategy has
always been about me.
Self preservation.
I will not come second.
And to you I was never first.
You are hungry for play
and validation in ‘social’
things. An insatiable thirst
to have things on your terms.
Perhaps the other doe
eyed women who love you
will wait and wait and wait.
Cling to hope? I am not them.
You broke me in half once.
And then once again.
Why would I let you do it again?
Because you are lonely?
Because you are beautiful?
Because you don’t understand?
Don’t force me to spell things out
and be the monster that hurts you.
I told you when I met you.
Love is just a word.
The verbs that accompany it
make it real.
And for a time I lingered,
believing you were mine.
But I never was, and you
made it painfully clear
I never would be.
But you want to be friends?
For who?
Me or you?
You want to be friends,
but you want to kiss and
love and hold?
No. Can you not see the
cruelty in that?
And you are upset that I am
walking away, before the real
game gets played?
I loved you once.
I waited once.
I showed you once.
And you broke me.
But I must remember that,
that hurt you too??
Yeah. I made you feel good.
Yeah I was kind and fierce and
I would have ripped
hell’s gates off it’s hinges
for you. Just for you.
But that was then.
This is now.
You made choices.
I came second, third…?
As always.
No more kisses.
No more poetry.
No more fighting.
No more begging for
different things that
belong in different worlds.
Was I supposed to wait
for more rejection?
You betrayed my heart.
Repeatedly.
With your fickle and careless
way you dealt with it.
So I say again…
Love
is nothing.
Unless you respect me.
Fight for me.
Show me.
Choose me.
You didn’t do any of those.
I have learned you never will.
So I left. Its simple.
So very simple.
So I ask again.
Tie me to a post
set me on fire.
Just don’t beg me
not to die.
You took care
of that years ago.