Pissed that You Didn’t Call

I’m angry,

consumed with my feelings

fetal position, arms wrapped around my belly

tears cold and salty

staring at the wall with an obscured vision.

Dead. 

And yet alive in this pain.

Tired of liking you.

Knowing that it’s my fault for not setting expectations

ahead of you.

Jumping up when you want me in your bed

Replying right away to those late night texts

Hopping into my cold car with a quiet hope

Praying that I don’t choke

on my feelings…

Risking my pride for your affection

Taking my clothes off because you requested it.

Then back at home 

In pieces,

I’m having a hard time concentrating on the reason

for my existence 

On a reason to smile

On an excuse to not answer the phone

the next time I’m dialed.

And…there’s always an “And”

Always “and I just wished you loved me”

“And I just wish you saw me”

“And why can’t you call me outside of late night happy hour?”

Why can’t I just be good enough for you 

to want to feed me something other than your dick?!

I’m pissed and hurt

And in between ,

Knowing that some man somewhere would value me

if I could just stop waiting for you to call…

How about you feed me a line,

Dinner and some of your valued time.

Feed me a story,

Something about your life that has made you thrive

Tell me about a time when you thought I looked beautiful.

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