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The Salve

May 9, 2007

The churning sickness.
A flash of red.

“I really am sorry,”
That’s what he said.

How dare he apologize
And rob me that way.

My sole consolation
Snatched right away

The salve that would soothe, cover, heal
the wound of my heart —

Ease the sharp pain

“He’s not that guy”
That’s what I said

To myself

That man you loved
Once strong, sweet and real

He was moral and honorable
And now he’s a thief

He dissolved
become weak

Him you can’t trust

And now an apology
But he has no defense

(This is oviously not a finished poem, but I made some major progress on it tonight so I thought I would reward myself by posting it. I also have more to say about feminintiy. So you can look forward to more of the rant.)

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