Start Over

I claimed that I have no regard for you,
And, though there are some inborn qualities
I did admire as I was gnawing cheese
From your mousetrap, what I have claimed was true:
I think you're sausage meat, a stinking stew
Of spice and aging sinews, built to please
An untrained palate's untold miseries.
So start again, my angel, start anew.

When I was starting over, I was weak
And empty, thinking I was really strong,
As wrong as ever someone could be wrong.
I wondered when life ever looked so bleak,
But — kiss my ass and turn the other cheek —
There are no clubs to which we both belong.