I recited a monologue about commitment,
but not even a fuzzy black and white image
could convince you otherwise.
You stuffed all our grunning photographs
in a dilapitated shoebox that I found
stowed away in the back of a cluttered closet,
faded memories of another time
when happiness was not a forced obligation.

I always sign my name with a heart,
even now when you gag at the thought of it.
You left your phone open so I could see
the text messages with your affections
placed next to another name
as she sends kissy faces of herself
that make me nauseous.
It caused me to accidentally drop that phone
in front of the rolling tires of my SUV.

You hate being stuck with me
by the umbilical cord we grew
then you chewed to attempt a separation.
I'm no dumb brute.
You can keep running from truth
that you believe to be false,
but I'll always have you in a little glass ball,
shaking it won't change anything
but I still throw it around anyways.
There's nothing wrong with a lost hope
when it's all you have to depend on.