I’ve never been someone’s “everything”
and that really ******* hurts sometimes,
ya know?

I only know what it means to miss someone; never have I known what it means to be missed.

When I uproot the hairs sprouting from the glabella
and strip my cupid’s bow of its wildflowers,
Frida Kahlo writhes in her grave.

She haunts me.

“You are beautiful.”
[unibrow and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[moustache and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[sadness and all]

Was she actually clingy?

Or was she reasonable in her response
when you neglected her?

Was she really needy?

Or were you just incapable
of meeting her needs?

If I’m the villain, then you’re
the origin story.

What do ya say, Kid?

Do you have another poem in you?

Currently listening to Taylor Swift’s
Reputation album & plotting
your death, baby.

{oops}