This poem will be, An open rant, Whether you listen to me, Or you choose to chant.
There is no rhyme scheme, For it's as imperfect as we, Those ten months, "perfectly imperfect" had to seem, Casually cruel masked in honesty as it could be.
And look how I'm in pieces now, Yet you continue to be at peace, Did you really have to do this somehow? You got what you wanted, but at what fees?
What is disrespect; how do I define, Such a strong word, Heavier than this melancholy of mine, That I weep without being heard.
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When you yelled at me the entire night, I still stayed after the morning light, Wasn't that disrespect of mine? Or did your definition change over time?
You kept me to yourself, with friends only two, Yet you said that I neglected you, What is neglect, I dare to ask, When you smoked with some other girl beneath the mask.
You felt unheard, you felt taken for granted too, The day you came home, all new, My mother didn't have food of her own, To prepare food for you alone.
You hurt yourself, I caressed your wound with my own hand, You were restless, you'd nightmares, I made you a dreamcatcher band, Don't your fingers tremble on the armchair, We once locked fingers over there.
Am I a ragdoll to you? Had your fun playtime, Or used as a punching bag, Then done and dusted, used and thrown away.
Maybe I'm too demanding, Maybe I never understood you, Maybe we were never compatible, Maybe, we were just a 'maybe'.
