Poem: Where are You?

I'm sitting here at the beach.
The sun is setting,
I'm outside,
eating a sandwich
and drinking some beer.
Where are you, my Love?

When the sun sets
I'll walk in the woods.
Find my blanket.
Curl up in it and go to sleep.
Where will you sleep, my Love?

I'll sleep in my clothes,
and the morning will come again.
A little smelly, I'll go downtown.
Because that is where the soup kitchen is,
where there is food in trashcans,
where the action is.

What will you do tomorrow?
Treating me like a toy,
you disagree, saying,
"You disrespect me."
But the truth is only that
I am the most interesting
of your victims.
Still here.
Still fighting.
How rare.

Your Love is Abuse.
Though you don't see it.
Taught to you by older male Abusers.
You think I'm wrong, I know.
But as a male abuser,
I know what to look for.
You are it.
I do not play you.
though I would have when I was younger.
Others may play you, I do not know.

You do play yourself.
This I know.
I don't know who taught you how,
but play you, you do.
This is not good.
And I cry for your games.
The choice is not mine.
It's yours
and you choose the worst
(in my opinion).
Blame everything but you,
I know that you will.

You are so fucked up!
But if you ever come around...
If you ever see straight...
If you ever want real Love...
I'll be here.
Just waiting.