I don’t need him.
Not his money,
Nor his polo shirts,
Or those trips outside the country.
I don’t need to see him.
And I don’t need to see him wear his tux
To every milestone in my life.
I don’t need to sit in a table for five,
With his significant other,
And those two little ones.
I don’t need to be told that I have his
Height, or his limbs, or hypertensive trait.
I don’t need him to sweet-talk me
Into believing his every word.
I don’t need his perfectly combed hair,
Nor that scent he wears,
The one that makes me weak.
No!
I don’t need his comforting hugs,
Nor his effort to make me feel happy.
I don’t need him to pick me up when I call for help.
I don’t need him to take my hand while we cross the street.
I don’t need him to wipe my tears,
Then let me keep his sweet smelling handkerchief.
Not his cigarette-stained lies,
Nor those bottle-slurred I LOVE YOU’s.
I don’t need him to call me “Baby Girl”
Every time he gets the chance to.
I don’t need him to compensate
For those countless years of absence.
I don’t need to be reminded that
He didn’t choose me. Us.
I don’t need to hear him say
“You are mine”.
I don’t need to miss him,
Nor kiss his cheek,
Nor get lost in his embrace.
I don’t need to break at the mention of his name,
at the sight of his torn up, virtual photograph.
I don’t need him.
No, I certainly don’t.
I’ll get by.
Somehow,
I will.