Cheap Cheese

Why would I?
You keep asking like
it’s some sort of possibility
like this is,
was,
and will be
a good idea
while it never used to be and
while I don’t regret that
day,
that time,
that breath,
I do regret
whatever I did that left you with the
impression that this could be
something other than
what it was,
and hasn’t been
for years.

You could be looking at me
right now without knowing.
Some random woman
who was no woman
when you knew her,
apparently.
Who are you to determine for me,
my being,
to assign me a self
reflection is what is needed.
For who continuously
tries to bed that which is
‘not yet’ a woman?
A nonce that’s who.
A nonce with no more maturity
than the cheap cheese
that sits in the fridge and is used
only for a cheeky toastie.
Your years are plentiful,
your tricks the same
yet you refuse to adapt
and walk in this
new world
a world where your voice is
no louder than mine.

I never asked what you thought
or wanted
from me
me-ing all the damn time.
I just acted for me,
for my own tomorrow.
If I’d been up shit creek
you’d have drowned
or doggy paddled away.
If I’d had brought your wants
into this for the briefest flash
we’d have
stayed together
for a few months more.
And I know for you,
this sacrifice is normal,
this grand altered
ritual but it’s not
about you and it’s not been
for some time.
I know you’re used to
grooming on your stage-
common with men of a
certain age
but times change
and you’ll never be
old enough
for me.

Published by R.T

Brit born and Canada bound, I run On Tuesdays, my poetry blog where I write weekly(ish) poems.

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