Violence

You know what? Fuck it.
I’m honestly tired of fucking trying.
Where the hell are we headed, when all you do is continue your lying.
I admit, my insecurities eat me alive.
But that doesn’t mean shit, no more am I trying to hide.
If I put a picture of a heart on my broken middle finger, it would only be representing my heart.
Because apparently, that’s what I had, and that’s what I ended with from the start.
I could fucking careless, and I’m tired of bottling up this crap.
Next person to act up, I swear to God he’s getting clapped.
I never want to use the Lord’s name in vain, but God as my witness.
I’m gonna take over these fake motherfuckers, you can call me the sickness.
This was the last emotion I wanted to be in, but I had no choice.
You never notice my desire, actually, I can tell you’re just ignoring my voice.
Your damn naivety is just another excuse.
I’d spill my heart out, but fuck it, what’s the use?
They say love makes you do crazy things and shit.
But I’m not crazy, just seriously fucking angry, so I don’t love you bitch.
I can’t help it, I can’t help it, you just get me so aggravated.
I thought there was maybe something, but it probably wasn’t stated.
As you can tell I’m pretty fucking ticked off.
Ain’t no way I’m gonna fuckin sleep this shit off.
And don’t act like you don’t know, you’re playing so dumb.
You’re fuckin’ around, I’ll let you have your fun.
I guess I did overanalyze your character for something I wished.
I guess I’m just another nigga, nothing special.. What a bitch.
The way the sun shined on your sweet special smile.
What I thought was your love, was more of denial.
I was so for being next tto you and joking around just for kicks.
And you’re work clothes could never hide that love from your hips.
I could dream about your lips and taste its good lovin’
Or spend our hours whispering our sweet nothings.
But it isn’t my fault, I never messed shit up.
Your shallow heart is what kept this shit up.
What the fuck ever, it’s the umtteenth time with this damn pain.
I’m honestly bewildered, how the fuck do I maintain.
Thanks for the rose petaled road you paved to your heart.
And much more gratitude for putting that fork in the road while it was dark.
Whatever, it’s no use.
It’s not my decision, I guess you get to fucking choose.
The way I use my words and incorporate violence is just a device.
I’m not always, mr. sensitive, mr. fuckedover, mr. sidelineguy, mr.justafriend, mr.loser, mr. 2nd/3rd/maybeeven4th best, nor am I mr. nice.
I just learned to put my emotions sometimes through a poem.
It’s simple girl, either love me, or leave me alone.