Once upon a time a chick,
That first one who dumped me;
Suddenly without telling me
Her thoughts or reasons;
I must have been about sixteen years old.
A harbinger of painful relationships to come.
A scenario I now know,
For my life of dating females;
That is just “what they DO”!
Especially these glamor queens
I tend to become attracted to –
I like to awaken with someone,
Vaguely similar to the star
I went to sleep with.
Once, without remorse,
A babe said through the courts
I was the sperm donor daddy of her baby.
Our fleeting affair was just two weeks!
They wanted to shackle my financial rest of life.
I’ve always been a late bloomer to the dance;
Playing it off “cool” in the face of strife.
Their part-time Casanova fantasy I guess,
It is only now that I truly comprehend romance.
Yet it still hurts and often now,
The USA does it government “legally”.
I wonder if I called her,
That ex of the exes,
Could it still work?
What??? Slap me,
I must be crazy!
Why can’t I get it without remorse?
They are just wired differently;
Not the infatuation or her this or that being enamored,
I always think the next one will be different,
In the way the hormones affect her.
Unique mentalities always make the lady feel good.
I acquiesce to her desires;
They spit upon me and fart unabashedly.
Otherwise she has the real fire hose,
For extinguishing “our” love’s desires.
Reading an old acquaintance’s appeal from decades back,
Stumbled upon it rummaging and tossing stuff;
I feel like I could have an old man heart attack!
She asked me to be ‘big hearted’;
Amusingly tried to use a ‘ten-dollar word’,
One that I’d used on her.
I could not extend that forgiveness then;
Now I know to let it go.
Back then I was hurt and angry;
Less mature a late bloomer.
Don’t misconstrue – I do NOT forget!
Her appeal chance a snowball in hell.
Now fifteen years hence in my sage,
I notice a newly better-minded me.
Perhaps rid of those financial consequentialies,
Provides a different reaction;
Could have improved my current situation?
We will never know.
Would have maybe given “three” a chance.
Instead of “ruining” three including me,
As I said to keep myself perceptively “free”.
Yet Monday A.M. QB,
I never aspired to be;
Too many random variables like hypocrisy.
I now tearfully purge the insensitivity.
Racking my brain,
Writhing in physical pain;
The bodily throws of an Edgar Allen Poe story!
Nobody knows except the Heavenly Father and my actions!
Can I get one back in my life again?
Can I not die alone?
Will I have her to rub my back late at night?
Then to cuddle and sleep tight.
Would love to playfully wrestle like Naphtali’s name means,
With regularity and without having to fight.
Or just Kill me NOW, God!!
Compelled, I can move on-principle!
Seemingly thousands of women memories flood my brain;
Situations pass at racecar pace.
Which one was right?
Fifty-nine prognostications quickly out of sight.
Many were wrong.
Some just thrilled to show me their thongs.
No way is this probably the final analysis,
But in six months sixty,
I’ll earnestly apply lessons from this present,
Or live lonely forward until my death;
A similar scenario to dialysis.
(Heavenly Father says, “this one, your ‘Ukrainian’…is different”!!!)
Oh, that letter ended up here: