This is old, but some "good" free-form poetry.

Titled, "Divorce Cake," and "Divorce Cake: The Sequel."

feels like we got a divorce,
and you got the kids, the car, and the house
and all i got was this stupid t-shirt
and the std from the bitch you cheated with.
hope you're happy with your pretty new thing
and you remember to take care of the childs
and that shes a great step mom
and cooks your favorite meals.
and im going to go on e-harmony
and be one of the people they cant "match"
because ive let myself go since we've been together.
since you got custody of everything,
going to have to rent a moving van
and the neighbors will all gossip
that i didnt get the kids because im a crystal meth dealer
and i fucked the pool boy
but you fucked the pool boy's mom
and my sister
when you called and said you'd be late
on our anniversary.
now that our trial separation is over
i hope you remember my alimony
because it is all that is going to get me through
the next few months
of eating ramen
and mac and cheese
the kind our firstborn liked
while i slowly forget your middle name
and your favorite color
and my children call your hooker "mommy"
and you buy her the volvo she always wanted
and i sell my car
for a monthly bus fare
and one day i run into you
and your new wifey
while i am walking the sick puppy i adpoted
to replace the love i lost
and i stare at the ground hoping
Sparkle the puppy would piss on your spouse's
Coach shoes.
you mention that you are moving to Connecticut
to the town that we visited
when you proposed.
i hope you take her to that park by the lake
where we joked about living in the creole states
and you tell her the same jokes
and then you watch a woody allen movie
and say that its your favovrite.
when you know that its my favorite movie.
and the kids will someday say,
"where's mommy"
and you will say, "right here with us."
and i will no longer exist
all because the sex with your hooker was better.
but i bet you anything she fakes it
and i know i never did with you.
because people that look like porn stars
dont have screaming climaxes
they are paid to look like they have them.
you will change my number in your cellphone to
"don't answer."
and when i eventually file for joint custody
or maybe just for a weekend a month,
you will laugh because your lawyer is much better than mine
and you will say,
"your track marks are looking rather big today."
and i will say
in my head
"yeah, so id your ego."
and you'll giggle when our youngest runs away from me
and i collapse on the courtroom floor
because when i excused myself to the bathroom
i took all of my antidepressants.
now you dont have to pay alimony anymore,
just one more payment
for the pine box
where i will spend the night
until im reincarnated
to the full moon
that overlooks you and your wife's
second honeymoon
where she will get knocked up
and you will both treat that child
like an angel
and the other kids will get jealous
and then our firstborn
will go through a phase
where he hates you for indirectly killing me
and he wears eyeliner
and fucks the pool boy that i fucked
so psychologically being closer to what remains of my womb.
and you will ground him constantly
making him have a curfew
that he will never follow
until one day he runs away
back to chicago
where he will go to art school
and carry on my legacy.
but that's just how i feel.

i feel like you spent our last money on drugs you said you'd never do.
and you left me at the grocery store checkout
with no money to pay for your supplies
that you were going to use to make a meth lab in our closet
and infect the poor little black girl that lived above us.
and you would run away from home
but give me a black eye first
and say "damn u bitch you're better off dead"
and youd leave for days going to columbus ohio
where you felt you'd "score"
but really all it got you were some nasty ass track marks
and a kidney infection
and while you were gone,
i had to care for the baby
who hasnt eaten in 2 days
so i had to call that ceo
that thought i was a hooker
and actually be his hooker
in his loft
while his wife was at lunch
and i had to lie and tell him he was excellent
and i would stumble back home
so i could feed our baby
and youd be there shooting up
with lipstick on your collar
and id say "baby where you been?'
and youd reply, "don't worry about it, whore."
and you'd smack me
and tell me that i like it
when i guess i kind of do
because i havent left you yet
because i think i need the drama
and i hate being pursued
i just like the excitement
of waking up with a new bruise
and the baby is crying
and you sold his teddy bear for crack
and started selling again
so now there's all these
shady motherfuckers
in our apartment
whistling at me when i get out of the shower
and you laugh
and i try to take the baby and move out
to my mothers house
but she didnt tell me that she moved to miami
so i spent the night at the ceo's
with the baby
and he lied and said i was
his secretary
and i asked if i could be his secretary
and he said for a blow job
and i just couldnt put my mouth on that awful dick
so i left with my son in the middle of the night
went to your house
and while you were sleeping
i took all of your drugs
and i started to vomit
and i died quickly.
before i died, i wrote you this note:
hey remember when you loved me and didnt have to be superficially happy? i barely do because you beat the good memories out of me. i hope you care for our little guy because i just cant be around you anymore, and because i cant be around you, i cant be around anyone. oh yeah, and i knew you were banging that pretty dark haired girl from the start. i found her panties underneath my pillow. lots of love/see you in hell
you read the note and then rolled it up and smoked out of it
you dropped the baby off at your sisters,
and went through my wallet.
you didnt call the police,
you tossed me in the river
at 3 am
and no one found out.
and the little boy grew up
and was just like his daddy
a fucking scumbag
and he got some chick pregnant way too soon
and he ran away with her best friend
and she had the baby
and it died
because she didnt know
but the father had aids
and so did she
and the baby was brain dead
and you found out and felt a little sorry
but the sorry was really just sorry
that you missed the last call at the bar
so you bought a bottle of rum
and went to the spot where you dumped my body
and said, "i never liked you, whore"
where you passed out
and were arrested for vagrancy.
but thats just how i feel.