I No Longer Beg for Scraps
Sitting a few feet away, I ignore
the relentless sounds of my dog
scratching at the door.
The weather is nice. Warm, no rain.
He wags his tail when I look at him,
not in pain.
He throws his full weight at the glass,
such effort. I stare at my phone with
THIS MUST BE HOW IT FELT.
All those nights I cried on the bathroom
floor, head against the door. Desperate
to be let in but your walls were too thick,
your head too dense.
The unpaid labor of hours spent
explaining the basic concept of
honesty. Years spent begging for
apologies to be tossed my way.
I gnawed away at the remnants of
self-respect as I failed to convince
you I was good enough until finally,
finally, the light bulb lit up.
YOU SAW ME AS A TRAP
INSTEAD OF A HOME.
My reactions overreactions.
My emotions manipulative.
My crying angering and
never, ever your fault.
I was a bitch for expecting loyalty
from a male in perpetual heat.
A dog begging to be let in--
A lullaby as you fell asleep.
Magdalena Matacz is an artist and writer from New York. Aside from some work featured in college literary magazines, a lot of her work remains hidden in notebooks, waiting to be shared—until now. INSTAGRAM: @m.luxaeterna