Stage 2: Anger

12:41 Saturday October 20


sometimes it still hurts.

but sometimes, when i think about everything in context

i get so angry i want to shoot you in the forehead with a bullet

made of the engagement ring you bought me

after asking me for the third time. lying to me

for the third time.

and you left our three year relationship via email

while at work

and then had a snuggle date with another woman


i hope you crawl into bed with the kind of person i warned you against

and i hope they destroy you.


you love to point the finger of blame at anyone but you

and yet yeah, you know, i'm going to say it- you held me back.

i used to reassure you that you weren't boring, but really

you seem devoted to being so- without drive, without hobbies.

your hobby was *me*. how desperate is that?


you were lucky to be taken in by me, trained so you could fly

a bird broken by a mother who likes you best with your wings clipped

i showed you that you could be a falcon, not a finch

and you decided to go back to the safety of your cage

because it's hard to grow and change

and it's hard to learn not to hit girls but to use your words instead

and it must be really hard to have to balance your feminist cred

with your unexamined behaviours


i kept quiet because i didn't want either of us to be embarassed

how cliche is that


as per usual, you throw your hands up and say i misunderstand you

well, baby, that's why i kept everything on record

because when i'd say "don't stick your dick in that girl please"

and you'd whine "she controls who i can be friends with"

you're not really being upfront. no surprise

you always loved playing martyr. loved making me angry

then begging me to punch you in the face

to redeem you.


sure, it makes me sick that the friends i introduced to you

the world i showed you

still embraces you now- i made you what you are

but they'll learn, i expect

when you no longer have someone to hide behind

and if they don't

well, they deserve the hassle of taking care of you

let them bottle feed you and change your diaper

you're a colicky baby with a lot of needs


good luck keeping up your facade

i hope you make it on your own

evolve or die, kid

you were never good under pressure

this poem is meant to do harm

here's a knife

let me stick it in

and twist

or even better

do it to yourself

and blame it on me


you always were a masochist


always liked it

when i licked your tears

and spat them back at you


i bet you're reading this even now

Categories: angry, breakups

Be the first to comment

Post a comment