Waste

How can you not see my waste,

Iove curdled and spoiled must sour your sight.

You can see your waste - frustration palpable when I am the reason

Costs unpaid, papers unsigned, an estrangement unfinished.

But How can you not see mine.

My waste is answering your anger- but you won't look. 

The waste of the clothes in my closet.

Of the suits unworn for months.

Of the dresses, now twelve sizes too big.

The waste of the plates in my kitchen, clean, untouched.

Except for one that is molded and cheerful and painted in cartoons.


How can you not see my waste?

The waste of my fridge, its space unused.

The waste of my dishwasher, without dishes to clean and

the waste of my laundry, because now I wear the same thing.

How can you not see my waste?

You waste energy and I waste away.

You knew every inch once,

But now you cannot see my body is missing seventy pounds.

You cannot see the waste I make in tears,

or in screams.

But then, no one else has.