Lovers Like Their Lies

Mother,

I have spread my legs
for men
I do not like
and barely connect with.

I spread them
while holding on
to a two-pronged lie
that said

my hurt
would drain from my mind
if I fucked enough men
for three lifetimes,
and broke them
like hand warmed
beer bottles
into indecipherable
glass pieces.


Mama,
you were the one
who taught me
how to love.
But you never said anything
about loving in moderation
and loving
only after
a period of honest interactions
and yogic contemplation.
I loved him, mom.
And I thought he loved me sometimes too.

But I knew.