Everytime I open my notepad 
I feel embarrassed for myself. 

Because it’s really me 
who’s the laughing stock 
in distress. 

I need to stop confusing 
the obvious differences 
between wanting 
and needing something. 

Why do I always need the things 
that are not good for me, 
why am I always choosing the things 
that will destroy me? 

I am in a constant battle, 
with choosing what feels good 
even if it hurts. 

Because I can look at you 
and tell you that hurt 
is full of  [bad word]  

And I keep writing about you, 
as if I’m writing to you. 
I keep writing about you, 
with the slight chance you might read it  [bad word] back to me. 

But it’s not even what I want. 
What I want is inevitable. 

I spent years, 
getting you to where you needed to be. 
I feel like I’m going to [bad word] throw up, 
thinking about the months 
I held your pain 
in my palms, 
and guided you back to sanity. 

I feel like I’m going to [bad word] throw up, 
thinking about the [bad word]  
the fight, 
the good days and bad, 
where you felt whole, 
and I felt like I was doing 
my job. 

I got you to where you needed to be. 

And when I did, 
I was left for roadkill. 

I feel territorial, 
and jealous (you’d like that) 
that I dealt with the hard part. 
And even the good days with you, 
will not make up for the days 
that she gets to keep. 

I feel like I could scream, 
thinking about the things 
she gets to see first, 
when I was the one 
who carried you on my back, 
and nursed you into a man. 

It’s now that I can only imagine the joy 
on your face, 
when you start to notice the things 
that I cannot be there for. 
I feel like I could scream, 
thinking about her taking responsibility 
for the puzzle that I spent years 
putting together. 

But if there’s one thing I know, 
even if I do have trouble identifying 
what I want and what I need, 
if hurt is full of [bad word]  
everytime you bleed, 
it’ll by my blood 
on your hands.