You
Why did you do it
Kiss me and tell me you like me
Spend so much time with me
Make me like you so much
Just to turn around
And I don't know
I saw her
The girl you called babe
I would have waited
As long as you needed
Been here as your friend
Regardless of what happened
But I feel betrayed
You said you liked me
But called her babe
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

Her shaky hands with
Fading, chipped nail polish
Reaching slowly towards her cup
Wrapping her slender fingers
Around the warm mug
Steam rising from the top
Slowly and cautiously
Lifting it towards her
Fearing she might drop it
Steam engulfing her pale face
As she takes a gentle sip
Lips pressing firmly
Around the rim of the mug
And when she puts it down
She spills a little
Hurrying to wipe it up
Ignoring the lipstick print
Her smooth lips left on the rim

Here's to you *******
For not understanding my anger
About your naked body joke
Because you'll never know
What it's like
For grown *** men
To talk about you like that
You'll never know what it's like
To have a man you saw
As a second father
Say sickening words to you
You'll never know what it's like
To be looked at like an object
For the word NO to have no meaning
Here's to you *******
For your lack of understanding
You'll never have to know
What it's like
To fear going out alone at night
To avoid dark places
To wonder if it will happen to you
To be taught
That you have to be careful
A man might drug you
And kidnap you
Or **** you
To be taught
That you're safer in numbers
You won't know how it feels
To not be taken seriously
Because all he did was
Grab your ***
Even though you didn't want it
Here's to you *******
For caring so much

It's a beautiful thing
When the idiot turns out to have been right all along
It's a miserable thing
An unbearable thing
When the fool was the only one who had any wisdom
It's a marvelous thing
When the loser is going to win in the end
It's a horrible thing
A terrible thing
When we find out what it is
But its too late to change the way it was

So this madman
Resorts to running though the night
With nothing in his hands
And no place to call home
And all he has
Is the thought

It's a beautiful thing

that two out of three poets
write on the internet
while getting inebriated
and three of every four
people who heart a poem do
not read it
and having a dream
of making a living writing poetry
the odds are worse than
winning the lottery.

We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash