the poem i never wanted to write - scott parkinson - day 30
it puts me in that chill wind again amid stone and grass and dying light, little suspecting the wall of refutation my arguments would run against, rules of a game always set by you, sex as something negotiated on terms amenable only to yourself, contempt that weighs so heavy in the corners of your eyes, disdain that’s always been within the gutters of your smile, even in the moments of our greatest bliss. it’s not a poem for dwelling on the ways i wish i’d taken better care of you so let me say i wish you’d taken better care of me. i wish you’d known this much at least, because you were always very good at knowing things i didn’t, i wish you’d known i don't believe there’s anyone can love me if i’m not extraordinary.














