The Laments of Fiona Wilde

We moonlighted as childhood friends turned lovers,
Though I felt as if I had grown him in my garden
Out of crumpled flower petals and good intentions,
Cracked high heel shoes and a never-ending snowglobe sky.

And I hated his cigarettes,
The smoke that always seeped into the house,
The ridiculous boat he bought at a garage sale
And tossed in the back yard.
I hated the hole he left in the wall
After one of our big fights,
Where I was selfish and he was inconsiderate.

But I loved him for it, too.
And I loved the way his arms found my waist,
How he would wear my clothes to tease me sometimes
And the way he stood outside in the rain to smoke,
While I read Annabel Lee inside on the couch
And when he returned,
I'd smear my cherry lip gloss on his neck,
So he would remember that I loved him for it, too.

But we were a time bomb ticking,
And he hated my family and my bad manners,
And the friends who abandoned me for pictures burned long ago,
When the James Dean I had unearthed
Became nothing more than a silly dropout
With cigarette ash tucked in his fingernails.

And I grew sick that spring,
Of the ugly world that lived around us,
Until I grew the strength,
Fortified my walls,
Cast a shadow around myself,

And put the shotgun in my mouth.

Reviews

[A. Doyle]

Love your style. Beautiful poem