black shoe.

There are not a many things I’d re-do
but perhaps, you.
You are much like the soil,
the dirt stuck to my shoe.
I wish to unstick you.
You tricked me one time,
one time too many.
You left me out in the cold,
begging, pleading.
Locked in the closet.
There was nothing I could do,
nothing to escape you.
You are an infection,
a joke, a plague, a flu.
You plague me now,
still you do.

Why do I allow you to fester inside me?
Why?
Why do you haunt me like a nightmare,
a ghost?
Why should I care? Care about you?
Caring is one thing you never do.

Its because you took something.
A treasure from me,
you took and you slew.
That is something I would never do.
You hold something now,
even now.
You are a child. A sinner.
There is nothing I owe you.

I paid for you, in tears.
In pots and pans and locks on the doors.
I paid for you in pride, intelligence.
I paid for you in my love and honor,
my independence.
I still pay.
In energy and thought.

I wish you would do
what you’ve undone so well.
I wish away you.

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