Moving On

So, I did it. To everyone I insulted, I’m sorry. To everyone I was harsh to, I’m sorry. I had to be. It took most of my cold heartedness to leave her on the street, figuratively speaking. In commemoration of this occasion, I would like to share a poem of my own creation.

Get Out

In my doorway she cried
I stood there bleary eyed
Wondering what to do
Even though I knew
What she would ultimately do

She came in and told me
All the things she could see
I nodded thinking what
I could do for her but
I already knew what she’d do

She took off her clothes
Begged me in prose
To bed her then and there
And weave my fingers in her hair
But she’d shown me what she’d do

I kicked her out of my house
And threw her the blouse
And without a word to her
I showed her what she’d incur
A door in her face

I’m done being used. Done being toyed with. Done being changed. Done being thrown around. Done being all of that. Fuck it. Cut it. Print it. Run it. It’s over.

In a lighter mood though, I am getting to be better friends with people I rarely talked to before, hopefully I didn’t completely destroy some bridges that shouldn’t have been burned.

And yes, I stole the quotes on the side idea from my sister, but I like it, sue me.