No.
Stop.
I get it ,okay?
I get that life is shit right now.
I get that you're going through hell.
But every text.
Every message.
Every breath
Does not need to be filled with self pity.
I'm tired of playing therapist
To someone who doesn't want to change.
To someone content in their own problems.
To someone who shuts down every idea I supply.
You hurt me.
Everytime-
Every.
Damn.
Time.
I speak I'm cut off.
Every bad day of yours
Needs to be recognized and helped.
Mine shoved into a corner and ignored.
And I'm done.
Because honestly?
My life is shit.
I'm going through hell.
And I'm fucking trying to be okay.
And with every text.
Every message.
Every breath
You're dragging me down with you
Into your damn pity party
Filled with annoyed sighs
And refusal to grow up.
So until you do-
Until you're done wallowing in denial-
I can't handle you.
And I don't want to.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
PoetryMy thoughts tend to form like poems, so I figured I'd share them- part of me hoping they make sense to more than just myself.
