© 2015 Lisa Suguitan Melnick. Designed in Wix by Raphael Bernabe | raphaelntb@gmail.com

Historical Truths

February 18, 2015

I requested that you

Can it, your Rants, your

prima donna Rants

But you can’t, Can It.

 

I won’t let you in

on my heart’s level of hurt, you

Shoving me aside, Keep the Version of verse

we Gave You, you said.

Ah, you slithered and sucked your way to that “We”

But where was

I

Now?

 

You wanted me to be

The ghostwriter for a ghost

/gōst/ = one who occupies the body of a living person

in order to                   complete itself

 

From this, my vantage,

I witnessed being stuffed

            into a corner

You prick

your presence

an unskilled putty knife

Thrusting me

            into the mitre

My toes, clinging

            to the framing

While you had your way with me

 

While you

With your imaginary playmates

thrashing mind 

flailing birdie hands

buzzard buddy playing board games

Playing me the same way you

worked the room.

 

Rapt yourselves around my

Precious morning minutes

Text vibrations

Heaved

My inner rhythm

 

I requested (again) that you

Can it, your Rants, your

prima donna Rants

But you can’t, Can It.                        

 

On three, fuck me                            

 

For a time I doubled

over     

wondered how

you could burn a bridge with us

 

and though

you’d done it with so-and-so

and so-and-so, so-and-so, and so-and-so

I looked

the other way.

 

So Now,

On two…

 

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