Sweet 16

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My birthday is in 20 minutes and I’m fucking crying about you again. To ease the pain I’m objectifying myself so that other people’s happiness will rub off on me and become my own. I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry I didn’t leave sooner. I’m sorry I fell in love and you didn’t. I’m sorry it was more than sex to me and I can’t stand to see you in bed with another girl. I’m so tired of fucking crying I wish I could just slowly erode away on the inside but I’m so very weak and I cry like an infant searching for his bottle. Because I want to feel loved again and I want to feel warmth against my body from another man and I miss every inch of every person I’ve ever touched and I wish I could just feel beautiful without someone telling it to me. I can’t breathe and you say that’s the most common thing I say and it’s true. My breath is constantly being taken away from disappointment and I am so very disappointed in myself because it’s now my birthday. 
And I'm still crying about you.

 


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This poem is about: 
Me

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