Dischord

I want to make up my mind to be rid of you.
It just doesn’t want to listen.
I’ve tried any number of things
distracting myself with school, or work, or even choir;
but then you showed up there.
I tried ignoring you, but all that seemed to accomplish was to
make you pay more attention to me
the exact opposite to my plan.

I’ve even tried giving in
allowing those emotions to be nourished and grow.
And what happened?
You used me.
You played me like one of your instruments
a sweet sound whenever the mood struck you, yes,
but I was left with such a painful dischord
when you decided
I wasn’t worth the time
it takes to breathe.
My God is love. What does yours preach? Usury?
Love isn’t patient; it is reckless.
Love isn’t kind; it abandons.
He sang with the tongues of angels,
but he had no love for me,
and he broke my heart.