**Does this even count as poetry?**
It was kind of dizzying - I mean, when I first saw it.
Was I just confused? Was that really there?
I was tired. I was just about to hop in the shower before bed. It couldn’t be happening again.
Out of nowhere.
We were doing fine.
I-
Why though?
Do I care?
I shouldn’t.
I should.
I can’t.
But I do.
But I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t.
Really.
It stuck with me, too.
I climbed in bed.
Tired.
And it was there.
In my throat. Swelling. Sticking.
I don’t care.
That’s it.
I’m done.
This is his fault.
He did this.
Just like before.
And the time before that.
I’m done fixing this.
I’ve tried too hard for this.
This is just the same as it’s always been.
Don’t react.
You can’t react.
Don’t be that girl.
Don’t go grovelling.
Don’t show him you care.
Don’t ask him why.
You did nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
You did nothing.
But what if I did?
It’s not your fault.
Stop thinking about that.
Smile.
They want you to smile.
He’s not here.
Smile.
He’s not worth it.
Not every time.
Who do I tell?
Who can I talk to?
No one.
Him.
No one.
Don’t say a word.
Maybe this will fix itself.
Maybe there’s no reason to tell anyone.
It’s in my throat.
Maybe I should just ignore him.
Maybe I should just ignore everyone.
Maybe I need cookie dough.
I most definitely need cookie dough.
Most definitely.
YOU ARE READING
Shorts
Short StoryJust a bunch of stories that probably shouldn't have gone anywhere but my teachers' desks, but ended up here anyway...
