Just Call Me Blonde

I wanted to write you a poem
To apologize for the things I once thought of;
But now you've been late for several hours,
And I think what I thought back then, really was.

Else, how could you leave me just wondering,
Considering the horrible ideas I once drew?
Now the former has become the here and now,
And I can't see the poem because of you.

'Tis true, I have lived the ultimate enigma:
I've raged inward by questioning my own mind.
And the "Catch 22" that you ultimately threw
Has left me bitter, enraged and unkind.

It seems you want me that way, though,
So it appears you have an ultimate excuse.
It's as if you enjoy when others see me destroyed,
So they will tell you that there is just no use.

Now we've come to this day of decision, reckoning;
To make or break, with suffering, mend over again.
I find myself looking back to the good ol' days
When we'd never have agreed to a civil end.

In awe, at the face I have etched in my mind;
In tears, I yearn for those juvenile, fun times;
In smiles, as though I don't really have everything to lose;
And in closing, I understand how love makes us fools.