Behind The Eight Ball

His chapstick soft lips Distracted me From the perverse taste Of stale cigarettes He inhaled Between every other word But it didn’t Make my sagacious heart Uneasy He was winsome With that throaty laugh After years of smoke clouds leaving his body He even had All the prominent tattoos and piercings To make me question my self worth Like if I was pretty enough in person If my curves were perfect And if not Would my intelligence Make up for Those missing check marks? Instead I was sinking in my chair At dinner Endlessly circling My glass With my straw While he had the best conversation With himself About why his car Is scarred With multiple bullet holes All the Faces he left dripping in blood Resulting in handcuffs The way he can’t function If his head Was not filled with dope I could feel the sadness Drag its nails Across my eyes Leaving A scar Of realization That I would never Be able to share The joy of my writing with you Or the band That inspired me to write In the first place What about how You would never ask How I’ve come to see love Yet how ironic you wanted to take me to play pool After dinner Because love Has always Left me behind the eight ball And your presence Your undesirable disheveled Absent minded presence Left me In a tight corner With no way out each game Not in a heart racing from the thrill Cheeks are flushed Kind of way A stare In the mirror once I’m home In incredulity one Because I used to forfeit The best parts of me To men like you