Greedily we sought new lovers to replace one another,
happened upon one gem we could neither share nor half
for all blades dull, bend, or break from her hardness.
Like the knife we use to slice the onions
as it knicks our flesh and we profusely bleed,
we do not blame ourselves;
we blame the knife, we blame the onion
for the slice, for not being on target to be sliced.
Why ever would we be cause for our own sorrows.
We are god to these objects, and like mankind to its god
all personified matter lets its maker down while
avoiding the blame.
But the tepid water splashed upon my face
camouflages the blame temporarily-
the puffy pink baggage even foundation cannot conseal.
Let me no longer avoid the blame-
I sacrificed my love for you for her and
with a gentle swipe of tears,
I relinquish my mandated lust
for diamonds to you both.
I shall not hesitate to dance in the onion patch
with tears flowing freely and wind slicing through
my mourning dress, my goose-flesh to my heart.
My heart is a loving heart-
not bitter like the onions I stomp in my wild dancing.
My heart is a wild heart-
it will settle upon discovery of another loving heart
that loves my heart wildly.