Why
do you blame yourself
for things you can't control?
Like when Uncle Joe
gives your ass a smack
as you pass by.
When no one believes you.
When they call you a lair—
an attention seeker.
Like when they finally notice
good ol' Uncle Joe
sneaking into your bedroom
at The Devil's Hour,
and place the blame on you.
When they call you a slut—
a whore.
Like when they say you asked for it—
that you begged for it.
And you did:
you did beg.
You begged for him to stop,
and he only laughed in response.
So why?
Why
are you such a liar—
such a narcissist?
Why
are you such a slut—
such a whore?
Why
did you ask for it?
Why
did you beg for it?
Why
did you encourage him?
Why
are you mistaking reality
for their ignorant fantasies?
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a Neurotic Insomniac
PoetryLet's see how this goes. It's time for this sleep-deprived, emotionally-unstable creature to write some shit down.
