Bite Me

You keep saying that

I don’t talk nor do I

express myself,  well ask

yourself why that could be

let’s see you utilise

that brain for more than

sexual function or

romantic fantasy

ask yourself again why

I don’t scream from rooftops

from soul balconies

what’s locked inside of me;

the way I love or hate

you’d investigate if

it mattered at all but

it doesn’t and while you

self serve a buffet of

narcissistic platitudes

that we are all expected

to imbibe as gospel

you have the ballsy nerve

to crown me drama queen

because I break down and

show my weaker side?

you can’t decide what to

say to me but run and

hide like a guilty child

instead of the adult

that  you shout claim to be.

Grow up already…okay?

I’m through with the raving

holier than thou, whining

attitude when someone

doesn’t gift wrap your wants,

your needs, your deep desires,

offered up on steaming on

a stolen silver plate.

trust me, no one wants the

half gassed effort made at

love so save the words and

prove it for a fucking

change instead of giving

me a menu and the

same shitty lip service

that is always on tap



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