kyle, if only your dick was as long as the title of this poem
maybe we could have been something.
but you I do not love, and you I barely like.
when I see you I struggle with myself, I find it
hard to believe you are a part of me
and I do not like it, because I do not like you.
you: make me crack my bones in protest, I hate
the sounds you make when you speak words.
I think you are stupid, and you don't treat me
as good as you should. and a lot of the time
I just want to punch you in your fucking face!
I don't want to write poetry about you
I want to write protests about you, I want to tell
the world what a tragic lover you are and
how little your worth. I dread your heart
beating close to mine because yours will
fuck mine up, and I am not broken.