Left Behind

I’ve never been very good at remaining congenial

after being left behind. Like when I was 7 and learned

my mother was cheating on my father,

or that time in high school when a girlfriend admitted

she’d kissed one of my friends at a party.

There was always a waiting behind in the bushes moment

following one of these betrayals, where, to avenge hope,

I’d end up springing on those I loved a few words that made

them flop over like the trash. Though I now know

feeling thrown away was really how I felt. What does one

do with a self-esteem that’s as rotten and buried as a dump?

Notice how the “grass grows greener” above it? Well,

we all know how looking at an upside ends up. It goes

something like despite how broken and ugly I am underneath

it’s because of my dirtiness that I can still have moments

where I’m beautiful, where I’m vibrant and tall and dance

in the wind, like a field you walk through to get to heaven.

But it’s deodorizing talk like this that’s made me want to be

sad, alone and left behind pretty much all my life.