What’s Left Of Me

You fell out of love
long before
our bed turned cold.

For years I pretended
not to notice;

all the late nights,
whispered phone calls,
love bites,
late night text messages,
credit card bills for cheap hotels,
gifts that never found their way to me,
phone numbers hidden in your pockets,
lipstick smears on your clothes,
wafts of perfume clinging to your skin
and pictures you hid from me.

I played the dutiful wife;
cooking, cleaning,
taking care of our kids,
turning a blind eye
while you ran around,
treated me like a fool.

Now you think
you get to be the one
to leave me.

I cleaned up after
your mess for years;
changed your stained sheets,
flushed used condoms away,
gathered up clothes your lovers left behind,
and listened to girls, broken-hearted
and crying on the phone.

You don’t get to walk away from
me, from this mess you can never clean up.

Do you think I’ll just stand here,
smiling, dry eyed while you walk
away, disappear into the sunset with
your latest conquest?

I’m not that kind of fool.

You’ve torn strips from me
from years, chipped away
at my self-esteem, confidence,
turned good memories into
dark shadows tainted with
lies and poisoned my heart.

What’s left of me now?

Who will I become?

Copyright © 2017 by Pamela Scott

This also appears on Tumblr.

 

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