Not a Poem About Her

It's not so much painful as it is infuriating
It's the unknowing slap on the sun-burned back
or the single letter message composed of "K" sent back by that someone who know has got a lot more to say
and you really want to work it out
It's the bout we never show up to
but still get bruised by the collateral damage of our choices
It's the voices
The voices that whisper from the cobwebbed corners of our bedrooms
BOOMS
the echo of our explainable embarrassment that resonates and grows only louder against the acoustically perfected carved out cavity which once contained our hearts
Contained the confidence needed to believe
Simply believe
That we were good enough
For anyone
For everyone

Just never ourselves