It's funny how a man that swears to have loved me,
From the teenage years, until before I said I do
To the
right one for me
And
wasn't you,
Could go hours and get rides for shades of me,
But only once for me did he--
After Helena and Hermia
Before
Ophelia,
The distraught and dark Hamlet who was more or less
A whiney, present day Mecrucio,
Have our backs until it no longer favored you.
So in
goodbye by making it clear
That I was better as a lighthouse for you
Who was only useful anymore as a silent painted portrait--
Rose red with thine petals at my feet,
The I love
you, love you not wishes which
Smolder to sharp thorns in my hands.
I'd rather the flowers I wear upon my crown.
Everything was your terms, and you grew scared when
As I realized other men in my life cared more than just
words,
And would drive an hour no matter the weather
Or pomp and
circumstance,
To spend just an evening or afternoon.
No agenda. No intention to woo.
They didn't care I'd given my heart to my correct Romeo,
Without
pushing me to be their Juliet.
You act as if I am the one that did you wrong,
But after nails hammered in coffins and then
Pried loose
once more,
The assessment is more damage done to my heart,
The one
which is more whole
Due to true love's first kiss.
The phantom
of you will always be there,
A ghostly sonnet in caverns of old,
While real friends tend to flower beds by the lapping shore
Or throw pebbles of life to make the water
Ripple with
the growing wisdoms of time--
And my beloved watches over
As the sun
to warm my days
And the moon
To
illuminate
My
darkest nights.
