You called me angel,
Your lips in my ear and your hand
Between my thighs
In your accent that never could sound sexy
Because I always associated it with you.
You called me babe,
Over phones and texts and videos,
Because it was the right thing to say
Or at least that's what you thought
Because that's what the people did
In the books you read.
You called me baby,
But only when I was crying,
Only in groups of three,
Babybabybaby,
Like you were trying to shush me,
Calm me, like the moniker
Suggests, in my infancy.
You called me sweetheart
And I hated that
Because sweetheart is perfect
And everything I want
And you ruined it with your harsh
Vowels, your too-wet tongue
And it made me sick.
You never called me by my name
Unless we were fighting
And at the time that was just another thing
To hate you for
But now I'm grateful
That for all you ruined, you stained
There is still something that is pure
And right
And wholly mine.
YOU ARE READING
Hysteria
Poetrya collection of my poetry for the world to pick apart. warning: some of these poems contain themes of mental illness, self-harm, and attempted suicide. if these are likely to upset you, i would advise against reading.
