Poem: The Denier 

If you don’t remember what I was-Here’s what I wasn’t-

I was not a liar-and though I tire, tire,

I’m not the denier. 

I’m old enough to know what matters now-

And what really doesn’t;

I was not the creator and the sustainer of the fools’ game,

I was playing and being played within it, spin it-

Whichever way you want-

I was not a liar, and though I tire, tire-

I was not the denier.

There’s a disease that creeps into the back of a weeping girl’s mind-

The cause of distress soon to unwind like memories gathering to conspire-

To hinge upon weakness and the bleakness of a failed concrete spine-

Made to carry the warry widow, left by a prospect of promise,

Of love and most things thrust upon us-

And in my view you do what you do to make me feel blue-

And did what you did amid love I showed you;

At least I am honest, and I will make this promise- 

If you don’t remember what I was-

Here’s what I wasn’t-

I was not a liar-and though I tire, tire,

I’m not the denier. 

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