Dead Petals

Abandoned.  

Betrayed.  

Angry.  

I have the right to be angry. I have   

Every.  

Single.  

Fucking right.  

I claim ownership over this ire,  

over this immense weight that has molded a barrier in my mind.  

I claim ownership over this epidemic   

that clouds my judgement, the very foundation of my trust.  

I claim ownership over my own poor sense of judgement  

towards myself because I can't fucking be loyal enough.  

This poem is poorly written,  

and I have a lot of things to say because all my thoughts are   

Tagged,  

Plagued,  

Ruined  

with the shit that I'm feeling right now.   

Remember when that fucker came along  

and you chose him over me?   

Your best friend?  

Wait- haha what am I again?   

Sorry, Had to think that over because   

You  

chose someone who abused you.  

You  

let him degrade me, make me seem like nothing.  

You  

allowed him to ruin things.  

I  

developed an even worse anger problem.  

I  

hurt myself, mutilated my body to keep from hurting others.  

I  

stood by you while he replaced me.  

Did you know any of this? Do you care?  

Do you understand that he didn't just hurt you?  

Do you understand you fucking hurt me?  

Did you notice when on your birthday you  

pushed me away in the very plans We made,  

I cried the entire way home?  

Do you remember when on My birthday  

when you ditched me to Fuck him?  

You did know; you didn't care.  

You understand he hurt you;  

but you don't acknowledge he hurt me, too.  

You didn't notice my tears because I was too quick to clear them. (Maybe my red fucking eyes didn't give a good enough clue.)  

I'm sure you enjoyed my birthday much more than I did.  

We didn't talk for months because I decided enough was enough.  

But I still came back to you, you stupid bitch.  

Hey, now. I'm the idiot, sorry.  

We were like family  

Brother and Sister.  

Kindred Spirits.  

He even left you for some other bitch,  

I thought we would be fine.  

Huh.  

You're out of school,  

Not doing shit for yourself.  

You don't leave the house.  

You don't eat.  

You don't sleep.  

You don't care.  

I did care.  

I still do.  

Because when I had no one, I promised to be there  

for one person, at least.  

My first bond, the start of a new friendship.  

At it's bud, it's early stage I was there.  

But no I realize that all along the flower I thought   

turned out so pretty and would Live with some:  

Trust.  

Loyalty.  

Love...  

But it died;  

and I was foolish enough to nurture the dead petals  

hoping it would still look beautiful.