Your feelings are not my responsibility.
Your lies,
Those fake tears,
The cries for help,
And in reality,
In my reality,
Your feelings aren't my cup of tea.
See,
you wonder why it could never equate to you and me,
But it's not complicated.
My beauty is not waisted by your value,
And your opinions mean the absolute minimum to me.
Your feelings don't mean anything,
I've cried too,
But not like you.
My tears were real,
They were.
I've tried,
But not like you.
My attempts were too strong,
Too forward,
Too loving.
Your attempts were weak.
Your feelings,
Quite frankly my dear,
Don't mean anything to little ol' me
YOU ARE READING
Woman.
PoetryA book of poems and feelings. A book from a girl, a rose from the concrete. A Woman growing.
