the bus poem - part seven; welcome home

I loved you
as we sailed down the road
where you perpetually piss me off
for days after days
after months after years
in small destructively devastating ways.
The same route where I miss my stop,
because the world that I had tied up in a knot
was planted in your heart like a seed
when you decided to rip out its roots
and shove the brambles down my throat.
Bristles scratching as I swallow.
Blood nestling in flesh hollow.
You sang it to sleep in my stomach,
with tides hiding behind my eyes.
I ask for forgiveness,
you say
I shouldn’t be angry.
My friends say
I let you walk all over me.
You never liked them,
and they knew that.
So, when it ended,
they were glad.
But I’d still let you stamp me to the ground;
when I hear that bone crunching sound,
I know how it feels
to be relevant to your life again.
Use me like a doormat.
I don’t care.
I’d love the chance to welcome you home.
Stamped into the floor by your front door;
I’d kiss you from under your feet.
And if you brought a girl home,
I’d stay quiet
and just take notes.
I’d settle for that.
Because inevitably,
when she’s gone,
and I’m back,
I’ll be all shiny.
New and improved.
A compilation of ex lovers in the body of your best friend
with a fully charged battery pack,
and all the strings attached.