Boisterous

He is not a mean drunk.

He is a boisterous drinker,

accidentally hurtful with careless words

and wandering eyes and hands.

I fish for compliments

and reel in jokes.

He loves fat, ugly women.

And I feel a little less worthy of self-love

each time I hear him say so.

But I remind myself that I chose [I choose] this life

and that this loud drunk man having fun

is my closest friend.

Even though he doesn’t know me all that well

despite the years

Despite my attempts to show him.

He falls asleep the second he hits a pillow.

And I lay in bed knowing that

he’ll wake me up for love in the morning

And I’ll go to the bathroom to quietly cry.

Because I am. So. Tired.