"What was the fight about?" My Worst Ex Ever asks me.
"Which one?" I ask.
He rolls his eyes. "The one you were just talking about?"
"It's not important."
"So. Me, then. It was about me."
"No." I say, which is mostly true.
"Was it about the subtle communist undertones of Fraggle Rock and how it's affected Generation X?" he asks.
"No." I say. "It was stupid."
"Politics?" he asks.
"No." I say. "Fine. I called him by your name."
"So," he says, "you do still have feelings for me?"
"Feelings for you?" He's right, but they're not the feelings he thinks they are.
"And you think about me during sexy times."
"No." I say, glaring at him. "You know I don't take attendance during sex. I called him by your name when we were arguing about something that was only slightly less stupid than arguing about the fact that when I'm frustrated about something stupid, I think of you. Because you're incredibly annoying."
"And you still liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike me."
I roll my eyes. "Your name is a curse word to me."
"And curse words are named after the things we most enjoy doing. Nobody says 'Holy Appendectomy' or shouts 'Taxes!' when they drop something on their toes. No, they yell the things that release tension and bring them fleeting moments of serenity."
"If only my moments with you were more fleeting." I said.
He's right about the curse words, though. What's something in your life that brings you joy but you are also kind of ashamed of? Make it your obscenity of choice, and build a poem around it.
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