Her Target

My ex used to laugh
At my walk
Saying I wobbled
As much side-to-side
As straight.

She said I was so un-cool
I set a new standard.

She said it was impossible
To love me
Because I loved myself so much.

I remained motionless
Allowing her to use me
As target for her scorn.

She was a haunted woman
Pursued by wanton ghosts
Down labyrinthine ways.

I knew she would exhaust herself
Eventually.

And so she did.

The un-doing of those I once loved
Brings no pleasure
No portion of glory.

It is tragic
Watching the implosion
Of one who once held my heart.

And, she was right.
I do walk funny.
I am un-cool.
And I love myself.

If I don’t who will?