Your love have I always chased down.
for years I kissed your feet.
I lingered here; there followed you
never ever feeling complete.
I joined you at the equator
where I melted in the burning sun.
My boots did not shield me from freezing
When through Antarctica we’d run.
Disheartened and in shatters
In a dark room alone I mused.
“would I ever be a person
who’s emotions you’d not abuse?”
the answer came from my candle
as it flickered to light breezy draft.
My transparency was suicidal,
my obstinance - clinically daft.
so it’s taken me quite by surprise -
the reaction to my retreat.
you seem sullen and shaken and cross.
cold attentions though previously unseen.
never garnered I more a reaction
than I have since the day I refused
to have anymore dealings with your kind;
choosing no more to be misused.
Your slack jaw and wide eyes are laughable
as on Christmas you bend to the tree
noting emptiness there in the space
where there used to be presents from me.
it amazes me you cannot fathom
whatever brought on this change.
you have stomped and cursed and hollered
but the truth of the matter remains
that you have as much care for my feelings
as a toad might have care for a fly
and you’ve given your own misdealings
every pass, every sickening decry.
Yet you paint me as a villain -
a shrew, a miser, a witch
but I’ll have you know that I’m over you.
"Merry Christmas", your favorite bitch.
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