Disclaimer: Not autobiographical
I wanted to scream when you were done with me
To rage and kick and pull out your hair and bite you
In my dreams I slap your face and watch it dissolve.
When I sleep I see a different world,
One where you live in a muddy pit
Dug from all the hot anger I felt.
I am vindicated in my imagination.
In real life, I cannot scream,
Not when I see you. Your photos.
Emblems of your successful life.
Your clueless, perfect, nuclear family.
I want to cut you with my words
I want to laugh as you repent
What you’ve done, hidden for so long.
Instead, I am forced to shake your hand
And be nice to your family
And answer your stupid questions
About my life.
I watch your happy life.
Why is it that I am the one who hasn’t moved on?
Will I go to sleep everyday, exhausted from the ordeal of the everyday,
And wake up in the middle of the night
To feel your hands up my thighs?
Why am I the one tired?
Why am I the one broken?
Why are my sentences incoherent and mundane?
Why is this a terrible poem?