She Left Me For A Guy Named Parkour


She Left Me For A Guy Named Parkour


She left me for a guy named Parkour

and I don’t want to even spend a goddamn second

eventually realizing what that’s supposed to mean




Your ass is not a park bench, Helen

You don’t have to let some acrobatic prick….

No, you’re absolutely right

That has absolutely nothing to do with me anymore


It’s just

I don’t, you know




In Orwell’s 1984

they had Hate Week

but Trump’s turned Hate Week

into a 364 day holiday


so in our 2018

we’re left with Ouch Night

when we can’t sleep

and we’re writing to keep

our guts from falling out

or we’re re-watching those

Bionic Woman/Six Million Dollar Man

love story episodes

in order to make it through

the slow crawl into the next morning


We get to scream, Ouch

for all those things that won’t let us sleep

and which we need to be true

like the Lock Ness Monster

and true love


We scream Ouch!

in the middle of the night

because it’s necessary

and appropriate

and who the fuck’s going to stop us, anyway?



Oh yeah, I forgot about that prick

This world is filled with parkours



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