I know it’s all my fault.
When has it not been?
I forgot I was serving your plate
along with mine
and feeding on both
in the binging
until it hurts.
I’m fed up in the way
this table is always set
with cruel intentions
and guilt tastes the same
no matter the purging.
I look at my hands
and they’re so fucking clean,
but they are tired.
Tired of cleaning the dirt
from your fingernails
and apologizing for your absence.
The green doesn’t pay
for the vacation of your choosing,
or does it?
Maybe this is just me
washing the guilt away
in the rapid cycling
that lives here…
Maybe this is just me
showing you my open wounds
and maybe…
this is a good time to compare
our battle scars.
I’m the winner
that didn’t win anything
other than this load I carry
of yours and mine;
we died the day you said fuck it
and left me to clean this mess
as if I made it alone.
Stephanie Bennett-Henry
#stephaniebennetthenry
I read this and in my mind I hear Leonard Cohen sing a verse from The Stranger Song:
“And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind
You find he did not leave you very much not even laughter
Like any dealer he was watching for the card
That is so high and wild
He’ll never need to deal another
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger.”
And if you think that put you in good company as a poet, you’re right.
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Stephanie Bennett-Henry is, so to speak, sweeping up the jokers someone left behind.
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This is heartbreaking but so good ❤️
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