Cold

I was born in the north, but have ever hated the cold.

You turned this way.

Suddenly, and with no warning...

like the unseasonal storming

of the Halloween blizzard, way back in '91.

Little boys and girls all dressed up to have some fun,

until it dumped

from the sky, from the clouds,

snow piled up and around...

came up to my chest.

The weight of ice burying my breast.

The deep freeze sealing off dreams

of joy and play, sweet delights to be had.

Made me then, makes me now,

so fucking mad.

You are something like the heavens, my love:

unpredictable, uncontrollable, unrelenting at times.

In good and in bad, you've exercised

your right to enjoy, invade, deny, then refuse.

Left me here singing the "Used Woman Blues."

It didn't need to be this way, love.

You know this, I had explained.

Had allowed you perfect freedom, blessed

your path, willing to remain

a friend to you always, even as we parted.

You were startled:

said, you were used to being the asshole, the jerk

when delivering such news.

I was willing to be the one you didn't choose.

But in the end, by your absence,

by the change in your tone,

by the negligent way you don't pick up the phone,

I get it. Now I see. Now I finally understand.

You are, most indeed, THAT kind of man.