Fuck Making My Bed.

I’ll stand over my bed my mind

Like a fucking idiot pacing the side

worrying about how I should make

it before I leave for work. I stand

there with tears filling my eyes,

my hands shaking like an addict

about how I need to please you

before you find out I’m being a

slob again.

I need to make sure its made

before I leave for work or else…..

Before I finish my thought I

think to myself? Or else fucking

what? You’re going

to yell at me for not making the

fucking bed? Are you going to also

sit there and go on a fucking rant

reminding how I’m not shit? Are

You going to go on a fucking rant

about the fucking coke cans again?

Are you gonna come out the closet and

call me a slob? Withhold sex from

me as a punishment again? Make

me feel like shit like you did every

fucking day for months?

Or else fucking what? No seriously or

else fucking what? I can do whatever

the fuck I please and make my bed

whenever the fuck I feel like it. I’m

tired of coming home and having anxiety

Attacks over leaving my coke cans by

The fucking sink. I’m tired of feeling

Your voice cutting through my brain

Giving me a splitting headache as

You belittle me over not folding the

Fucking laundry. How grateful I

Should be that you let me move in.

I still have to pop Xanax anytime

I have to be anywhere near your

fucking vicinity. My hands shake,

my lungs cave, tears stain my

clothes, my heart drops to my

feet and every hostile memory of

you making me feel like I’m just a

piece of shit comes rushing back

to me like a riptide and it gives me

a fucking migraine.

I check my shoulder every 5

minutes I’m out I public in the

eye of those who judge me the most.

I think of choking you to keep my mind

calm enough to order my fucking Starbucks.

How the fuck did I let you in so deep?

I hate how much you ruined my mind.

I spend so much my fucking time digging

you out of my skin, I’m tired of bleeding

all over the fucking floor. I’m tired of cleaning

my dignity off the fucking wood floors.

I’m tired of bruising my knees as I scrub

what you’ve done to me off my skin. I let

you bury me alive for far too long,

enough is fucking enough.

I feel bad for the next girl you’re

going to ruin because after years,

its clear as fuck you haven’t changed

a fucking bit. You’re still a shit person

and shit people deserve nothing.

You’ll get by while I get better because

you never learn from your fucking

mistakes and love to blame others

for your own piss poor behavior.

Guess what? We’re sick of it. We’re

sick of your shit and jokes on you

there’s strength in numbers.

I wrote this fucking letter to make

sure you know what actual pain you

caused me, because everyday I wake

up feeling the fucking same. You could

never accept anyone at their worst.

You don’t deserve anyone at their fucking best.

Fuck making my bed. Fuck not feeling

like my best isn’t enough. And fuck you.

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