What hold is this you have?
Is it one of love
I donít feel guilty.
And it doesnít feel like love;
it strangles my heart and clenches my chest.
My head gets heavy with anger;
My face hurts from frowning.
You are no dream,
yet I dream of you.
My heart lightens and I can breathe.
My face relaxes and I am happy.
Only for those moments when I donít remember your figurative slap
across my mouth:
ďI'd prefer not to do any more writing with you -
Sheís already jealous of you cause of that picture and I don't want to
have to explain why we're still in contact, cause you're just
supposed to be someone I briefly met in Cuba.
I hope you understand (again)... thanks
You might as well have said: You donít matter.
You make me sick.
I make myself sick for fantasizing about you.
I made you my dream
A cheating man.
by Kathleen Moll
Read the story behind this poem
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