Mascara Poem by Mark Heathcote

My heart isn't a lavatory seat for you to take a dump on
My soul isn't a lemon,
For you to squeeze the last few drops -from.
My feelings count, they matter,
And whatever I do or say is wrong.
So I'm a square peg in a round hole, here I'm not alone.
At least I am consistent, minute-to-minute.
Hour upon hour, year after year
When I say I love you, I mean it dear.
I wasn't shouting 'Whatever' in some heartless mascara.
I wasn't acting out of character, all -soppy and weird.
I don't come running with tears and tantrums.
With vacuous promises, I'll change, change for the better.
Time and time again, all I have in my pocket is loose change.
I've fought a few battles, and gone far too many rounds.
You've floored me to the canvas
And knocked me out for the count.
But this time I'm staying down; I'm leaving the ring.
And whatever belt, crown, or trophy fits you best,
Please wear it proudly.
I know when I have been beaten, the victory is yours.
Have the house, the kids, and even your last vitriolic words.