when we ******
it was never
reassuring.
(i guess i wanted
[i realize now, i never needed reassurance. i only ever ached for love, which
you could never find
time for] us to say goodbye)
it never made
me happy
(okay, one time)
every time (except one)
it felt as though
you were sweeping the floor
completing a chore
so that your mother would stop screaming in your tiny ***** face
Never stopping to ask me
"is this okay"
"it's fine"
would have been my cold, numb answer
; thinking about how you used to sing
to all those other girls
but you never wrote your own songs
and how i could never be yours
because
you
never wanted me(you would never admit it,
your pride will **** you before i do)
but when you pulled out of me
and laid beside me, (your cold slime oozing out, disgusting me)
staring at the ceiling
**i hated you
this is a poem that sounds good read aloud.