A Promise Meant Nothing Poem by Charlotte Ballard

From seventeen to thirty,
I played a game of lover's roulette-
Grabbing the gun of sexual desire
And pointing it at my heart,
Pretending that the heat in the
Cross of my legs meant that
Romance, and blessings,
And all that a ring would bear.
Trading kissing and clutching
For a spin of the gun.

Sometimes a spin brought
More heat but less fire,
And another spin- nothing
but a card bought for a buck
Forty-nine,
Crumbling in my hands,
While I nursed a baby in my belly.
I didn't know the rules, or
Rather, I pretended not to.
I couldn't keep them, anyway.
For they made no sense to
The fiction
Of kisses and groping
And tongues gone lying.
Only the babe stayed
Real, not dissolving in
The morning, leaving only
A wet smear, and sorrow.
Promises meant nothing.