my dear friend
you’ve been reading her memoir
the ramblings of an angry woman
wounded well before you met her
scarred beyond a reasonable doubt
while still a child

yet, in a revisionist, vitriolic, rendering
it seems you are to blame,
you are the traitor

she needs you to believe this storyline
not to merely wound you
but to obliterate & bury you

she is seeking to decimate
the monsters under the bed
that nightmare she’s never shed
a hole in her heart that can’t be fixed

projection
transpose unmentionable horrors
onto a punching bag
that doesn’t strike back

she needs you to believe this story
because she is seeking to bury her pain
in a case of mistaken identity
for what was, certainly
unimaginable childhood suffering

but my sweet man
you make a lousy punching bag
and this memoir is not your story
you loved her, but you couldn’t save her
hard to save souls on the borderline
& harder to breath as she battles
seeking revenge, chasing ghosts

a safety belt
hard hat
bulletproof vest
a compass
flashlight
emergency kit
a kiss

whatever it takes
however long
I’ll read you a different story
but only the funny, lovely parts
& only the ones with happy endings