I’m sorry. I saw the drowning
look in your eyes – the one
I know so well from
the inside out, the one that says
everyone thinks everything
is fine but it’s not okay, I’m
not okay
– and didn’t throw
you a lifeline. I know
how it feels to be the only one
in the room who’s holding
on to a grudge because it’s
been with you so long it feels
like a part of you, so that to
let it go would mean losing
something of your identity,
even though everyone else thinks
you’re punishing the person
for old dead deeds and why
can’t you just get over it
already. you can’t. you’re
not ready. you might not
ever be ready. and he doesn’t
deserve your forgiveness.

you warm yourself
by the fire of your hatred.
I know.

just not

weather so brutal that I
cannot feel my face,
American Airlines sending
my goddamn bags to LGA
when they knew damn well
I was arriving in Newark
after they canceled my flight
and forced me to spend a
miserable night in Charlotte
in a hotel full of dudebros
in suits for some Phi Beta Kappa
conference in which they’ll learn
how to be even bigger dickheads
than they already were,
some asshole in my building
having the nerve to do laundry
when I am using both dryers,
a stupid jackass revving
his shitty car loudly for
no good reason, all of you,
can you just