Your words to me

 “I” is selfish.

“I” is what attracted me to you because of your confidence and charisma, therefore your “I” attracted me to you, and made me look up to you as a fly is attracted to a burning light, so attracted to their doom, 

 I got to close, scorched, crisp to ashes, only to see that your “I” didn’t include me.

“I” was once a part of you, but to you “I” was everything.

“I” knew that "I" was once a part of your everything.

Don’t forget that I was a part of you.

I have parts of you.

My hands start to resemble yours,

With the Crooked pointer finger,

I've become too skilled at starting things but not finishing them,

Able to create too easily but not pick up the mess,

Like a four year old with a tantrum, not making the perfect paper mache project,

Throwing glue and paper around me,

Displaying chaos...

And I hate that I have parts of you and your chaos.

 

 

Love.

Your love was greed.

What we had wasn’t enough for you, 

Remember your eyes,

Gleaming with excitement with the "And's" and the "Us" and the "We",

Like the personification of gluttony,

Seduced by Adephagia,

You saw me, not as your pillar, 

But saw me as weight, 

Your big feast of love was not enough,

As your "And's" and "Us" and "We," 

Turn into "Me", "Myself", and "Mine,"

And I could not do anything but watch you eat, while I starved, holding only your crumbs to eat.

 

Who are You?

Excuse me, but have I seen you before?

So let us introduce ourselves,

My name is the name you claim to others you don’t know,

The one you aim to hide,

Therefore, who are you?

Excuse me sir, but in damnation,

Five kids didn’t wake you from your distaste,

Your dissatisfaction,

It is so damn easy to start a family, 

But you were tired be called, "Father", 

Deciding to become a preacher, 

Claimed fortune teller,

knowing the word of god,

So wake up from your slumber, this is your eldest daughter,

who hates that you don’t see your youngest son,

Your middle son hates our mother, therefore he thinks all women are bitches,

When all she does is worry if he will grow up to be all right, 

So when will you damn finish off where you started?

Was it out of pure boredom, 

Like a project unfinished?

The last text you sent me was, “I sent the check to your college.”

 

 

“I love you.” 

Nine years old you told me. Those were your words.

I once loved you. 

But I have no idea who the stranger was who said those words.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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