(no subject)
I went to a building downtown
to file for a restraining order.
I took a friend,
I took a bag,
I took a bottle of orange juice.
I was laughing about something
that my new potentially significant
other had said,
the night before.
I went downtown, and I went
to the fourth floor
where I found a woman behind a desk
to whom I said, "I'd like to file
for a restraining order."
She handed me a clipboard and a pen
and sent me to the lobby to go sit and
write out the reasons that I wanted you
to go away.
I wrote down the tattoo that I watched
you get.
I was holding your hand when you got
that tattoo.
You almost cried.
I payed for it.
They took me to a room
a few rooms away
and they asked me questions about you.
I said, "She is making my life
very unhappy.
And I want her to go away."
They wrote this all down and they
led the witness, asking me questions like,
"She calls you every day, right?"
I agreed and they dramatized and then read
me a paragraph, written from my perspective
that I had not written
and asked me if it was true.
I nodded, and they gave me meaningful, steady
blue-eyed looks and said that I'd be okay.
They said they'd have to use in court
that you pressured me into having sex with you
on my couch
in our living room
when your mouth on me
ruined all of our memories.
I nodded, I left, and later
they told me that the restraining order had been approved.
I woke up the next morning,
and realized that I wanted you to go away,
I wanted to find a way of
legally forcing you
never to hurt me.
But the lady behind the desk downtown
didn't do a goddamn thing about my memories.
I tried to make everything I knew about you go away
and look at me fail.
Look at me fail.
It didn't go away that you held me when I'd been
throwing up all day in your bathroom
really making a mess of things
brought me ice chips and Juicy Juice.
And your grandmother's dry, old hand
on my forehead.
It didn't go away that we stood in your sister's silent kitchen
in the middle of the night
a long time ago
in our nightclothes
and just talked.
And you lied, and lied, and lied.
That was such a nice night
I still have the bracelet that I made with our niece
that day.
How could I have known that you were lying?
It didn't go away that you were the one who
told me that I was a
selfish
needy
demanding
horrible
unreasonable
thoughtless
unloving
difficult
idealistic
bitch
and a bad person, too
and fuck you, too
and but I love you, also
mostly when you thought I was leaving.
It didn't go away - it may never go away -
that we were jumping, laughing
hugging 'til it hurt the day that we
got the keys to our home.
Which you can't come within 50 yards of.
It didn't go away that you sat slumped down against the wall
outside the bathroom in your mother's hallway
with bright red eyes and soaking wet cheeks
for three hours, the day she came home and found me and
you wouldn't leave
(you usually don't leave willingly)
and I couldn't leave you
and I forced you to sit straight and lean into my chest
and I held you and kissed the strength into you
and I physically pulled you out of that house
into the too-bright, too-hot sun
and I walked you somewhere safe.
It doesn't fucking go away
and no piece of paper can make it.
Look how much I'm failing here.
to file for a restraining order.
I took a friend,
I took a bag,
I took a bottle of orange juice.
I was laughing about something
that my new potentially significant
other had said,
the night before.
I went downtown, and I went
to the fourth floor
where I found a woman behind a desk
to whom I said, "I'd like to file
for a restraining order."
She handed me a clipboard and a pen
and sent me to the lobby to go sit and
write out the reasons that I wanted you
to go away.
I wrote down the tattoo that I watched
you get.
I was holding your hand when you got
that tattoo.
You almost cried.
I payed for it.
They took me to a room
a few rooms away
and they asked me questions about you.
I said, "She is making my life
very unhappy.
And I want her to go away."
They wrote this all down and they
led the witness, asking me questions like,
"She calls you every day, right?"
I agreed and they dramatized and then read
me a paragraph, written from my perspective
that I had not written
and asked me if it was true.
I nodded, and they gave me meaningful, steady
blue-eyed looks and said that I'd be okay.
They said they'd have to use in court
that you pressured me into having sex with you
on my couch
in our living room
when your mouth on me
ruined all of our memories.
I nodded, I left, and later
they told me that the restraining order had been approved.
I woke up the next morning,
and realized that I wanted you to go away,
I wanted to find a way of
legally forcing you
never to hurt me.
But the lady behind the desk downtown
didn't do a goddamn thing about my memories.
I tried to make everything I knew about you go away
and look at me fail.
Look at me fail.
It didn't go away that you held me when I'd been
throwing up all day in your bathroom
really making a mess of things
brought me ice chips and Juicy Juice.
And your grandmother's dry, old hand
on my forehead.
It didn't go away that we stood in your sister's silent kitchen
in the middle of the night
a long time ago
in our nightclothes
and just talked.
And you lied, and lied, and lied.
That was such a nice night
I still have the bracelet that I made with our niece
that day.
How could I have known that you were lying?
It didn't go away that you were the one who
told me that I was a
selfish
needy
demanding
horrible
unreasonable
thoughtless
unloving
difficult
idealistic
bitch
and a bad person, too
and fuck you, too
and but I love you, also
mostly when you thought I was leaving.
It didn't go away - it may never go away -
that we were jumping, laughing
hugging 'til it hurt the day that we
got the keys to our home.
Which you can't come within 50 yards of.
It didn't go away that you sat slumped down against the wall
outside the bathroom in your mother's hallway
with bright red eyes and soaking wet cheeks
for three hours, the day she came home and found me and
you wouldn't leave
(you usually don't leave willingly)
and I couldn't leave you
and I forced you to sit straight and lean into my chest
and I held you and kissed the strength into you
and I physically pulled you out of that house
into the too-bright, too-hot sun
and I walked you somewhere safe.
It doesn't fucking go away
and no piece of paper can make it.
Look how much I'm failing here.