dumb stuff.
july 19, 2017.
5:21 am.
i think i'm too tired to be talking about this kind of stuff.
oh, but i wish i had you here
and i wish i'd never met you
to be fair.
i haven't seen you in a while,
haven't felt your fingers lace up and down my arms
in almost a month -
time is supposed to heal, but
i keep getting caught up in blood.
how could you say,
it'll be okay?
you shouldn't have let me get so
entangled with you.
i guess it was my choice,
but i chose wrong
as i often do.
YOU ARE READING
poetry iv: thot confessions
Poetrywritten in 2017. the end of an era and the beginning of a new one. trynna be some rupi kaur shit but that ain't me. confessions of a self-proclaimed thot.
