Monday and Thursday nights
we spend in front of the television.
It is only the two of us together.
This is how we kiss, how we hug.
This is how we show love. We
accept that loving is cold, closed off.
The gentleness, the easiness of love
is a lie that does not belong here with us.
Buried in the vibration of our screams
is the realization that this is what love is.
It is always fighting like two crabs in a
barrel, trying to draw blood, trying to end
the misery we caused. Our screams become
arrows pulled back before they are launched;
The target, always moving, is never hit.
We always miss. This is a world
to which we don’t belong, interlopers.
That is what we have become.
We continue to beat on the door
which stands closed before us.
We become the fighters, our anger
misconstrued. We are combatants too.
I have fooled him, made him believe
that I enjoy this time together.
He doesn’t know that this
is how I always feel, inside.
I want to scream out. The pain
always too much, unbearable.
And this is the only time when
it’s okay for me to cuss and scream.
The indirect cuts will never reach him.
He chose oblivious when I chose him.
The blood that pools in the ring
is my blood. The defeat mine too.
And after all the fighting, I am always
too tired. Exhausted.
And sometimes I wonder if I will be able
to continue to carry on. In the meantime,
I will always have our Monday and Thursday
Peace & Love,