Can I ask you something? What is it about me that repulses you? Is it how I hold my fork,or the way I write my poems? Is it something I can fix, or did it roll over and die like it never existed. You crawl into my thoughts, forcing your way in, like pushing your way in on a crowded bus, shoving away thoughts of commitments, taxes and friends to make room for yourself. I feel as though my grace has left me, and I am once again a small girl,head down, being everyone's bitch. I am not falling to my knees for you, but for the death of us. Today I will save myself and put you to rest in the cemetery that is my mind. The songs that you sung to me are dissapating like a fading symphony to a falling spirit. Today will be better, but even the white chocolate caremel cappiccino sitting in front of me doesn't make me hurt any less. Its over, Megan, Its over. Deal with it...
Reason for writing:
My constant stuggle with pain in general. Hey, I miss everyone, thank you for all your support, sometimes I really feel like my poems suck!! Meg
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