Anger · Free Write · Personal · Poetry · Pondering · Relationships


I sit here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

I mean it seriously, am I really a terrible person?

I can only imagine that answer is yes.

What kind of pathetic woman am I?

I get left by men for taller, skinnier people.

Every. Damn. Time.

What the hell am I supposed to think of that?

It is too coincidental to happen again.

The problem is me. It is always me.

The constant factor.

The known variable.

Excuse me while I hide in my corner and pretend to not be alive anymore.

You told me you loved me.

You told me you cared.

But I am still here alone

and I see you smiling with her.