Four Hundred Words Poem by Belle Violet

Along came a man
with black hair
and warm lips.
With a kiss that still burns
too hot
to forget.
My first thought should have been
Why does no one
want him?
But instead
here’s a story,
of revelations.
Dedication.
Of a good, handsome man
in a s**t situation.
Hesitation;
oh, I should have.
Or tell him
to f**k off
If I could have.
Should have given his motives
a more scrupulous look.
But then,
I should have done
a lot of things,
like keeping us only
sex and his checkbook.
Instead
I let this
Limp and too-quick
hypocritical and nervous
middle aged narcissist
test me,
No,
best me!
See it all
and the rest of me.
I remember December;
I was pretty and smart.
Deadly sexy, to a fault
and he was falling to pieces for me.
Little did I know
He said it to please me.
Congrats, Chief; it worked.
And some would say
just what I deserved.
The brunette little rock star,
partied hard, fun girl
with neurons
that would put yours
to shame,
blindfolded with wool
by a girl-wristed snake.
who couldn’t be bothered
to remember her birthday.
If there is a Reckoning,
bet I’ll be beckoning
Saint Peter to give mercy
no practice;
Throw that f**ker in Hell
for his time on my mattress!
And he will cluck his tongue and say,
“You stupid girl, you should have known
trouble brews heavy in a man with a home.”
There’s the trouble with your modern religions;
You don’t see mine as an honest,
and heart-felt decision.
It doesn’t matter that I loved you,
that you f**ked me over,
that you lied.
It doesn’t matter that I loved you;
you had a wife.
So, next time you’re in church,
with your family in tow,
and you’re pretending you’re righteous,
in your congregation row,
remember;
you never deserved
a moment of mine,
my dismissal of you
was spot-on the first time.
Read your Bible, teach your children,
Pretend
to love your wife;
but know you were a wrecking ball
in a harmless girl’s life.
And all she ever wanted
was a bit of your time.
I hope that you miss me,
I’ve stopped missing you.
I hope you know why
I
hate
you.
You’ve no idea,
how it feels to believe;
there used to be
a man named Chief.
Too bad
he’s dead to me.