"me, me, me, me"
i thought selfishly.
you say, "me, me, me, me"
and i still think of me.
guns owned by you,
bullets loaded by you,
and still i shoot me.
i am selfish by default.
i can only think of me.
for a long time this bothered me.
me, me, me, me
until i realized something.
i
don't
care
i need you.
I NEED YOU.
but i won't say it.
because you say "me, me, me, me"
and i only think "me, me, me, me"
what a silly juxtaposition.
your silly pile of silly guns,
each one loaded with bullets
that say "me, me, me, me"
and they will all be ready
to fill you-shaped holes in me,
where they will be at home.
i caught these guns.
i told you i would toss them into piles.
for a while i did.
but i can only stare idly at piles
for so long
before
they
become
more
and
i
begin
to
think
"me, me, me"
they belong to me.
how come you never toss
the guns
like i toss yours?
i know why
because you only ever say,
"me, me"
just as i only ever think,
"me"
until there are none left.
and again i wonder,
is this even
m e ?
YOU ARE READING
red-stained fingertips
Poetryprose and poetry and blood and romance. a fucking stupid combination. ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ TW: some poems mention suicide, self-harm, homophobia, and eating disorders started in september of 2021 #4 in poetry 8 . 8 . 23
