Petit Mal

"We could get married," I said, but I made him sick:Not anything anyone else would notice,Just a spell of petit mal that lasted secondsBut left him temporarily at a loss for words.

Not anything anyone else would notice,But triggered more frequently at times of stress.When he dumped me, it left me at a loss for words.My life then was one big ball of chaos:

My workplace mired in scandal, my ex triggering stressLate nights when he battered his weight against the door.My life then was one big ball of chaos,But a good man had loved me for almost three months.

I slept at his place to escape the assaults on my door.Breakfast was home-baked bread with apple butter.A good man, he loved me for almost three months.When his bathroom was a darkroom, I had to hold my pee.

Coffee in bed, and bread with apple butter.I was so happy with him, I knew it couldn't last.He wore old lady underpants and sat on the john to pee.His pickup truck was orange, his sneakers full of kittens.

I was so happy with him, I knew it couldn't last.It had been over since March when I had to tell him,Sobbing in the cab of his burnt-orange truck,That I was three months pregnant and he was the father.

It had been over since March when I had to tell him(Triggering a petit mal seizure that lasted seconds)That I was three months pregnant and he was the father."We could get married," I said, but I made him sick.