Losing.
Call me the Queen of Losing.
I’m a pro.
I can lose hair ties, money, wallets, socks, and shoes
Earrings, brushes, clothes, homework
Car keys as I’m running out the door
My dog.
That girl I was babysitting two seconds ago
Basketball games, card games, board games.
Fights, disagreements, debates
Dignity, respect, self-control
My train of thought, my formulating idea
The disappearing images of my early morning dream
I can even lose you.
And none of this is even hard to do.
But none have quite the magnitude of losing you.
And if you want a reaction, I’ll give you a fucking reaction.
I’ll yell, scream, cry and crumble
I’ll give you tears with a slur of inaudible words.
That ugly uncontrollable What’s-Wrong-With-Her-Face cry, too.
Because silence isn’t satisfying
And it’s no fun to wonder at my cold shoulder.
But don’t ask to look me in the eye
If you don’t really want to see.
And losing myself wasn’t hard to do.
In fact it was quite easy when I had you.
But now I’ve lost you too.
[after Elizabeth Bishop, 'One Art']
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