I was mad at you when I wrote this.

By , Pottstown, PA
I think I’ve realized that
We just go to Wawa when he needs
Cigarettes,
Not because I want hot chocolate.
He gets angry
Because he says we don’t love him
And he sits in the basement
And fills it with smoke
Until my jackets smell like
His depression.
I can see the pain in his eyes.
They turn yellow when he’s mad
But I get mad too
And mine stay green.
His story
Seeps out of his eyes
And it rips me apart
Because I hang on to him
Fiercely.
He says he knows he’s
Screwed up and I believe him hard
Because I can see how bad he hurts.
He makes me so angry
Because he can’t help himself
But then I realize that he is too tired.
He’s everything a man should be
And none of it.
He told us to keep a comb in
Our back pockets
And he always tucks his shirt in
And he loves people
And he hates them.
But he’s not perfect and he’s not
In a magazine even though I bet
He used to be very good looking.
He doesn’t shave because that
Is exactly what they all want him to do.
I’m exactly like him and I know it,
But my eyes don’t turn yellow.
His faith is stronger than
Mine will be for a long time.
The way he has killed me
Makes me hate him
But the way he talks with me
Makes me need him.
I hope he doesn’t die.





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Mightymite said...
Jan. 19, 2011 at 7:48 pm
I really felt this one. not cliche not over dramaticized. just emotion. and i love it.
 
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