Sometimes you get
angry enough that
you write two pages
of poetry and then
rip them to shreds

knowing they don’t
even begin to do
your feelings justice

and despite everything
you know you can’t
escape the guilt
from having those
feelings in the
first place.

Which just makes it
all worse, somehow.
I do appreciate everything you’ve taught me. Like, how not to act. What not to say. Who not to be. It’s pathetic and it’s sad and you should be ashamed of yourself. But I’m going to be just fine.


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