Poetry: The Game

Saturday, June 07, 2014

The Game

I looked for a common interest the way a pigeon looks for peanuts
something to nibble away at the surface, looking for a crack.
I wanted to devour you and squeeze myself into all the places I didn’t belong:
the apartment, hazy with smoke, the half-lidded eyes and sweet tequila breath.
You let me drink it all in, gave me my first taste of life on the edges,
a life of parties, persuasion, and empty promises.
Whatever you wish for, honey, manipulation will bring.

Masters of manipulation, we made money in the middle of the night.
With cheap drinks and trust, who needs pixie dust?
You taught me how to fly all on my own, 
carrying nothing but a bag of trickery and cupid’s arrow and bow.
Shoot through the heart, honey, and they’ll give you the world.

Such was life on the edges.

But while I was Robin Hood, you were just a thief.
I had been stealing for the goodness of love while you had been stealing from me.
So willing you were to show me your world I didn’t realize,
it was all a game to you.
Three months, two weeks, and ten days in your trap,
I said game over, and you called me naive
because the game wasn’t over as long as I was who you made me to be.
You can’t leave, honey, you’re much too naive without me.

I brushed away your words where they hit my cheek
because I knew that innocence does not come cloaked in secrets and deceit
and it does not seep into your world through the cracks I could see.

You’ll never know that I came to you with the intent to escape.
You were a lesson, a blessing, with a world I wanted as mine.
And I had plan to get into your mind,
take what I want, change what I don’t
and I walked out your door just the same.

I never claimed to be innocent, and I was never on your team.
You weren’t the only one with a life not like it seemed.
We both had secrets we wished to protect in this game of love and war,
mine was a wedding ring and yours was a scar.

I couldn’t be kept, and you
couldn’t hide all the pain you’d buried inside.

Years of promising, persuading, and pretending not to feel,
but I could still seep through your open wound.
You thought I would surrender in your prison made of glass.
You can’t get out, honey, without a scratch.

When I broke through, the shards left scars, but I had only one thing to prove:
Game over.

I win.

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