he came over to chain my door,
to give an extra sense of security,
and I watched him choose
between two drills and hundreds of bits
as he examined the space.
metal.
thick, double-paned.
hollow.
he tapped the nails, then screwed
them, then drilled, then tapped again
and I remembered how eager he used
to be to make me happy
but I couldn’t muster up
any love for him no matter
how hard I tried.
today, he left me with extra bolts,
extra locks, and an extra dent
in my heart.
I should feel something for him,
I should, but I don’t.
and now his damn cologne
is all that I smell.
how will I get rid of that?
A Cornered Gurl 
Even though we like to think we can control our emotions, experience says otherwise (most of the time, anyway). Love the metaphor in this poem, Tre.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Mags.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Tre.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Some friendships change too much in the other direction… Nice writing, Tre. I hope the door is properly secured now 🙂 xo
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha. It is. Thank you Faith.
LikeLiked by 1 person