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IS SOMEONE MAKING A GAME OUT OF YOU
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LYNN It wasn't until...
You said I stalked you,
Or that I raped you,
That I became engulfed IN ENOUGH RAGE TO stalk you.
It wasn't until....
I saw you walk arm in arm with my hero,
That I felt I had a chance with her.
To the point that I wrote letters to her,
In which I never gave.
You would see me wanting of your sloppy seconds,
And I only wanted to lesson her pain.
You probably met her when she was down and out,
And later, that proved the case,
Are you proud of being a "home wrecker"?
No one understood my months of agony and heartache--but she would.
And in so, my stint with YOU could ONLY help her.
You systematically lop off a persons support system,
Then leave them with EVERY remembrance of EVERYTHING good,
To sit in the middle of those wonderful memories,
Only to realize at the slam of the door, you were a con of Nazi caliber.
You start the tapestry unraveling,
Then all becomes apparent,
At just how long before you meet anyone,
Just at how far back you go to put a plan into motion.
It's not just weeks, it's years.
It wasn't until...
I saw you and your next lover,
The one with the tiger cub picture.
I bet you paid for those photos and didn't share them did you?
Willingly, I tell you I wretched,
She was your second after me.
Not only did she live with her parents,
But she was mentally challenged.
That is SOME crap!
WHAT GALL YOU HAVE!
You only pick battles you can obviously win.
What a true martyr you are.
"I truly loved her, and tried,
But her illness just proved too much.
However, she is the salt of the earth."
It's all in how YOU look in the end.
You only search for people you can manipulate,
Pick off and separate from them from the herd.
(their friends???)
Then after these already injured people can't drop any lower,
You kick them, and me, literally, in the teeth.
You are a control freak who holds all the cards.
It wasn't until...
I saw how you use people up.
You couldn't make love to a woman--
Not the way a lesbian does.
You're right, you've been with too many men,
And obviously haven't found the right woman YET,
Because, the right woman, would have put you in your place.
"A lady is a lady,
No matter where she is..."
Dare I say it,
A lady is a lady,
Because she knows when to go home!
Maybe the word you are looking for is "skank"!
When do you plan on getting to stepping?
It wasn't until...
Every notion I had of you being loving,
Who knew that I had been tied up and raped,
Who knew that I had been ritualistically abused,
Who said that they loved me with all their heart,
Who also had been in nearly exactly the same instance,
Who wanted me to tie you up and take you,
And got mad because I could not do that!
And as I sat there in the memories YOU wanted me to have,
Knowing YOU didn't speak to YOUR Dad for ten years,
Not giving any real reason other than,
"I don't want to talk about it."
Could it be, that there was more to Daddy's hands?
More that anyone ever could even imagine?
I hid nothing, and that was your power,
WHAT LOVE YOU CAN GIVE---
WHEN YOU USE ANOTHER'S HONESTY TO SUPPLICATE YOUR POWER.
Then I watched you,
For six months after your aunt died,
You wrote about sex, and more sex, and EVERYTHING,
About YOU---YOU---YOU,
Without one mention of this great woman who knew about life.
Then nearly six months later you regarded her as "Momma".
Your mother dies, hummm,
"I'm gonna lift my dress and fuck my brains out!"
That is real grief!
I also remember
After you served the restraining order on me,
The one that I proved null and void for merit...
ON ALL EIGHT ALLEGED ACCOUNTS!
You smile a nearly a year later,
And have the balls to ask,
"You look like you got some heavy sacks there,
Can I give you a lift home from the store?"
You'd have loved that,
A choice chaotic moment with my new lover....
You knew we had been dating, and living together.
YOU DROVE BY OUR HOUSE EVERY DAY PRACTICALLY.
I've tried to pity you,
I've tried to feel sorry for you,
I've even prayed for you,
I've prayed for me to be able to forgive you,
And not cast any stones in malice.
But I'm sitting here, two years later,
I've just moved and I found more letters you wrote,
About "THE BABY",
It's so clear there never was one.
DO YOU REALLY WANT ME TO DETAIL THE DETAILS RIGHT HERE?
You knew there wasn't,
And you kept me beside you...worrying about the baby...
ABOUT YOU, YOU, YOU.
"The baby has problems..."
I worried a year away with that phony baby,
A year I could have spent with my father,
And got a chance to say good-bye before he died.
I'm still left with questions:
How much of your bullshit is conjured up to be
A thrill ride for attention on your part,
And possibly how much is delusional...
An illness you have no control over?
The more I see you, the more things become apparent...
YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU DO.
And I've never seen anyone in a "Skank remission"---
It's not listed under the delusional disorders of the DSM IV,
(The psychiatric manual for diagnosing disorders.)
I've studied long and hard,
Brushing my teeth daily with this book.
And to get what expert advise I could get from professionals,
NOT THE KIND YOU ARE...BUT REAL EDUCATED ONES,
Just to find out what was wrong with you!!!!
You weren't an enigma to most,
Quite unlike what you want people to believe.
It's funny, I found your baby diary...
Journaling Hambone,
Journaling Big Willie,
Journaling and Journaling about all your pregnancies with men.
Hilarious isn't it,
"Men won't let you bullshit them."
To them it translates into dollars and cents,
And a long legal battle of strings being tied back to you.
You thought the feel of a man was love,
Maybe you had a concept of a one night stand,
But those men really knew it was just a
FREE FOR ALL SKANK-A-THON!
But as for women who can't have children,
That is a whole other ball-game.
Manipulation is much easier,
For them it is a glimmer of hope,
Tbe able to raise and have child together.
Graciously, you are back in town,
Which means,
Some woman or some woman's father,
FOUND A WAY TO PUT A SKANK IN HER PLACE.
You went home and cried to mommy,
Knowing full well she'd take you in.
She already knows,
People don't set alarm clocks in the gutter.
That place you frequent more often that you admit to.
What stories you conjure up for attention.
Why can't you be real with yourself
At the very least long enough to be honest with others?
OR are you afraid someone is making a game out of you?
