death of a child

June 8, 2017

you told me
you would have married perfection if you could.
i saw
you would have cared for perfection if you could.
instead, you could only love
the acceptable
amidst the mess you created.
oh, but the beauty died
within her each
passing day
under the shadows of
your being–
deprived of the sun, of everything you didn’t have.
and yet you wonder
the obvious
why was
your mass of
imperfection
dead?

i swallowed
the syrup you fed into my system.
you told me you were always right.