This poem is not about my boyfriend

You leave me, untouched

like rooms in a house that are unused
just for show. You want me
pretty, spotless
cobweb free.
You want me — plastic wrapped
and squeaky clean.

Just for show. I am the dining room
you never use. Watching
as you take your meal elsewhere,
anywhere but here. Leaving me with

echos

waiting, as you want me
ready
for what will never come;
a room full of friends, laughing
or a meal just for two, music,
candles burning
walls filled with warmth.

You’ve left me vacant
for so long, now I only ache
for demolition.
Red wine spilt on my cream carpets.
Sash windows, smashed. Cigarette burns
pushed deep into my chair cushions.

No longer do I need your presence
to make this house
in me
a home.

You don’t love me the way I need to be loved.

© 2022, Georgia-May Stone. All Rights Reserved.