the recycling

It hurts that what my life stands for
is something that you tossed away
like day old coffee
like a used mouse trap
like an ex-wife
it hurts that you could be so casual
with disregarding what I treasure
what I live for
what I would die for
it hurts too that it doesn’t seem to occur to you
that this might hurt me.
that you don’t realize
that how you respect me is
by respecting what I revere
I don’t ask you to believe
I ask you to leave it alone.
My love is not to be recycled with the day old newspapers.

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