On That Night: Why I Didn't Bang

I wish I could alter more than a few things about that night

(the amount of vodka we drank; the shirt I was wearing, the shirt you weren't; what you said, what I didn't)

but I am grateful to my cowardice for keeping you out

She says this would be over already

If I had let our bodies convene the way they have always known how

Personally, I am glad

I am glad that I did not let you crack me open like a pomegranate

seed-spilling-rubies-pouring-out

I am glad I did not let you collect every piece of me like fucking baseball cards or army recruiters numbers 

I am glad I did not give you the last part of myself because

you still would have left me and you still would have gone on with your normal life with your normal girlfriend and you still would have told me it was a mistake and I would have nothing left but

being

left

I know that you do not love her by the way you don't even address her by her name

I know because I have never talked about you the way you talk about her

You treat her like your fucking dog, she is just a bitch 
 

When I was in my mothers womb, the doctors told her; 

"Congratulations! It's a boy!"

They told her I was missing half of my brain

I have only ever been missing you

'Love' is a poor replacement

For this heart that beats as a homing device

It has to mean something that when our eyes met for the first time that night

Our legs could not help but carry us quicker

Our mouths could not stretch wide enough

Our chests could not continue to rise and fall rhythmically, the way they are supposed to

I am still glad I didn't let you in.