When you see me, you look so sexy

but you look so bad in my diary. 

Of yourself, you think so highly

You call me a bitch when you yell at me

but you’re the bitch in actuality.

You like to think that you admire me

but you disrespect me in reality.

You say you’re really proud of me

but your pride won’t let you see clearly.

You swap your spit for my dignity 

pounding your fists and hitting me 

upside my head but I don’t need pitying.

Your fists are clenched but empty

I have a triumphant victory

I manage to hold my grip on reality.

You say what happened is a fabricated story 

but the truth is something different entirely…


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