Last night when I got home
She had swept our love
Under the carpet
And hid our adorations
In the washing basket.
The onions that made me cry were
Perfectly sliced.
The grains of truth
Pressure cooked
Within an inch of their life.
I am an unkind, uncaring, unthoughtful,
Self-obsessed individual.
The biggest mistake she’s ever made.
Too old to be a teenage boy.
It’s time to put away my toys
And grow up now,
Time to vacuum up the words,
I am writing in this poem.