Unwrapped

did you forget, or are you just careless?

I always get
the short end
of the stick.

I gave you
permission, a poem, and a wish.

You gave me
this rift.

So now I take my stick
and hike through this dark,
spitting all over that park.

I take every scrap, every splinter you gave me.

And I dispose of it all,
dry my hands clean,
wipe my memory,
and press delete —

a present to myself.

I bid you farewell.

I am the gift.

Photo by Alex Moliski