Florence Mango

Doormat

I don\'t love him because he\'s pretty,

I love him because everything\'s an accident,

because he could hit me

and he\'d still get to see my broken face.

I love him because I know my place.

 

A jar of bones,

a wallet photo,

a night queen.

I\'m a well-kept secret,

he\'s a drawer no one\'s checked.

 

I want to love him in the daytime.

I wish I thought he was pretty,

just pretty,

so I wouldn\'t have to sit on his shelf,

packed and preserved,

protected like a pearl.

 

Maybe I don\'t want to love him at all.