I try to entertain
Your childish ways
But it becomes increasingly difficult
With each passing day
While you attempt to whittle away at my mind
I continue to twiddle my thumbs to pass the time
Because your immature insults
(your slut-shaming and bitch-naming)
Serve only to bore me and make me laugh
As they mean little more to me than the piece of lint on my shoe
The minuscule equivalent of you
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Mine
PoetryJust some poems and lines that I've thought of or will think up. -when I start writing, I can go on for hours because my mind is on overdrive and nothing else matters
