I heard you talking





to yourself
in front of
my back.
My name was tossed
and turned on
your tongue,
following unspeakable
words
and the broken
chair.
I guess you thought
it was an synonym
for worthless;
I don’t blame you.
The definition,
Webster wrote
clearly had my name
stamped there
in blue, generic
ink big enough
for your
blind eyes.
Go ahead,
tell me again and again
I’m not apart
of you,
I’m not what
you picked out
of the
grab bag.
Hit me, please
it’s better
than being ignored
or taunted
each day until
I cave.
Haven’t I
told you my
favorite color
is that of a bruise,
it’s pretty
and so easy
to make,
maybe it could
be like
father-daughter
bonding.
Maybe, just maybe
if you
close your
eyes and
think of me
I’ll disappear.
You could throw
my memory
away into
your pile of
other worthless
things.
I’ll sit there
calm and steady
and remember
what comes
after worthless
is worthwhile.