Why ask me to meet her, I'm your ex, I don't give a shit, At least I'm not suppose to. Why do you even want me to meet her, To judge her, To tell you she's a skanky-whore, And that I'm much better? Why do I still like you, Even though you're immature, And most of my bestest friends hate you, And even though you never treated me like a real girlfriend. Why do I miss you, At school, Or whenever, I always hope you'll appear. Why at the same time do I fear, Fear telling you I still like you, Fear telling my friends the same, They're happy I'm rid of you. I think, I think, I love you.....
raw, powerful, and personal; great job! I think you could maybe cut a few words out to give a a little more punch, and I think the last line is unnecessary, as the nature of the poem itself implies that sentiment on its own. don't get me wrong, tho, the overall effect is passionate and striking... thanks for sharing this
Gosh, you've been 'goofed' and once the 'goof' gets in you, you can't get it out. Move on. Save your poems and your caring and your devotion for someone who deserves it. Break the mould. Break it.
