Where’s my t-shirt?

Where’s my T-shirt?
It would say:
“I survived counseling my
ex through his recent breakup
as he talked about
‘finally understanding betrayal’”
as if 4 months could compare to 30 years

Where’s my award?
Good work! You sat in the chair!
I did. I sat in the chair while he cleared his mind
told me all about
his on-again, off-again girlfriend
how thoughts of me interrupt every moment of his
“I’m not seeking sympathy,” he said, explaining how he can’t sleep from depression and
thanking me for the gift of
staying in my chair

is somehow something I’ve always done well
yet something I don’t do well enough apparently
As he talks I wonder
How is it that he
doesn’t get, see, care about
the connection between
and being lost

Even if they made t-shirts and awards for my life
for sure I wouldn’t get the one I want
because it would have to say
Life was good with you
it sucks without you
I made a terrible mistake

One response to “Where’s my t-shirt?”

  1. Ironically, my ex once told me that I was the only person who stood by him, who didn’t throw him under the bus. This was about a year after we divorced. I bit my tongue, yet again, so I wouldn’t tell him the ONLY reason I was a “reasonable person” was because of the three boys we had together. That’s it.


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