For The Next Pretend-Indian

 

I want to steal back from you, everything that is me.
My fists you did not fight.
The nights I cried alone
you did not call me or hold me.
Told me you were tough, been where I been!
Hustled what I hustled.
Turns out no one remembered you
you weren't there
like I wanted you to be,
for me, a safe place
whenever the cops drove by me.
Now that's gone because it 
turns out you weren't drinking with me after all either
to kill what I was told to kill about myself. 
Turns out you were suffering some other kind of sadness,
but you knew that.
Turns out we weren't making love, you and I,
but one of us was getting fucked
and it wasn't you.