I haven't written a poem about you
Not even allowed myself to think the words
For fear of retribution
I have kept you a secret
But I am tired
And I have been beaten down
Into a raw, ****** pulp inside
Over something that should mean nothing
To anyone else
So forgive me for believing
That people's opinions don't really matter
And I'll forgive her
For not being able to get over herself
(Because, darling, she's always had that problem)