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This Guy
So there’s this guy
Who has this strange habit of making me cry
I guess it’s my fault since I leave myself on standby
Giving him the opportunity to misidentify
The type of person I am
A strong, independent madame
Except when I’m with him
Then I’m this emotional wreck spilling at its brim
Or an obedient dog who can’t seem to go dim
Constantly wagging its tail, hoping to please him
After a while, though, I remember my worth
And I promise myself I’ll never go back to that hell on Earth
But then I get a text, telling me he really loves me
And I’m back in his arms, asking him if I can get him anything.
Men Want
what they want. Not being herself will be problematic down the road for the heroine in this poem. Be you always, I always say. :D