By Flo Wen
The sky was green, the grass was blue, and chaos we were feeling;
Between us: wreckage, hostile thoughts, and things he was concealing.
I knew enough to topsy-turve the love we’d been maintaining
For disbelief replaced whatever passion was remaining.
For he and I had always said, it’s you and me forever
In those five words, there wasn’t room for his or my whoever.
But pacts are pacts, by nature meant to be a bit mistreated
They say that love’s a game and if it’s true, his pawn had cheated.
I called her all the names I could; indeed my friends came running
For ladies who have morals jump at any chance of shunning.
Yet shunned or not, this lady stayed the object of affection –
He was mine, and she was his: it’s just love’s imperfection.
But imperfection paves the way, like puzzle pieces fitting:
The process of elimination used before committing.
And though I didn’t know it then, we didn’t fit together;
For he remained a corner piece, and I was in the center.
But I, like every puzzle piece, upheld my only function:
To find that central piece near mine, and strengthen the conjunction.
For God knows every pair of lovers needs a good supporting;
In fact, it’s just the nature of the troubled act of courting.