life in the cusp of the rose belly

life is, like, two sentences short
just like modern poetry
I'm tired of reading about
how much you loved that faceless body
then the bodies, those people,
in your life isn't acknowledged
no--she isn't a pretty muse
like rose petals with thorns
and stuff like that
she's just someone you tried
a relationship with
and now you're over it
but you're still going to write
pretty poetry
about it like it cut you
deep
--like a sharp thing
or, maybe, like her rose thorns
like life is prettier
in two short sentences
but it isn't poetry
she isn't a metaphor
for all that's lost in love
she's kind of a human
--you know?
like how a rose is still just
that one thorn that cut you
deep like a sharp thing
now you aren't a fan
of flowers
and you tell everyone
you're just not that kind of person
I'm tired of feeling
like...
life's too short
that to be modern is poetry
that everything can be said in
two short sentences
that she's a rose metaphor
and you're okay with everything
that bodies and people
are art like objects to be inspired muses
life is there
--always just there
and you reduce it
with your body,
that sharp thing,
to this short sentence
and chewed rose metaphor
I'm tired
of being okay so I can salvage
my good years
because life is too short
if I die sad and, like, afraid
of sharp things or
acknowledge that
she didn't really mean anything
like how you said
then I lived true
life was there
--and I could be wrong
Jesus! I could be so wrong
about all of this and it scares me
but it's not short
it's not short
life is long and winding
and I'm grateful
I'm tired of reading:
life is like two short sentences