Some may say it’s when it lays a hand on you that bruises,
That the damage has to be seen to be abusive.

But there’s nothing like crying next to someone who is so engrossed in their phone or show to realize it,
and that perfectly describes the isolation you feel in your life.

Or how it doesn’t keep up with your written words
because they are as important as your spoken,
which is not at all
and you’re not the priority.

Sometimes you rotate eating rice with lettuce for every meal
of every day
because you don’t have money,
but it has the budget for beer and cigarettes and meals someone else makes.

It rarely finishes a plate of what you made
and never touches leftovers and all you hear in its excuses are

you’re not good enough.”

Every so often it shows itself in the form of false promises to make you stop crying
and you both know that’s just not true.
He’s just tired of you being tired
and it’s the quickest way to politely say

Be quiet.”

It once screamed “fuck you, bitch”
and you locked yourself away in a closet for three hours —
where you listened to a story about the boy who lived in one too
before it decided it was time to make sure you were still breathing.

When it’s around you’re not allowed to listen to the music that makes you happy
because you have really poor taste
and your happiness is as important as you aren’t.

It tells your friends half truths
and now you’re no longer the fun friend,
but the nagging woman they’ve all feared to befriend.

You’re mad
you’re bad
you nag.

But really you’re just sad
and there are very few left to listen
and you’re crying next to it
and it doesn’t even notice
which is perfect representation
of the lack of recognition
and why you’re so desperate for love.

And the best you can do right now is whisper
I’ll leave you
To the sound of a slamming door,
But at least he locked it before leaving you behind
So no one else could get to you.

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