I hate you for taking all the best parts of me, 

Wrapping them in your grubby hands,

Eating them up like it was your plan.

As though all of the promises you made

That I would never understand,

Were just written on paper and burned.

I have always said I’m not scared of fire,

But desire only births liars, and now I am charred.

I am ashes on the ground, on the windows,

Covering the tires of his car. 

And he will collect me in a mason jar 

And set me on his mantle,

Make you laugh, make you cackle.

Make you roll on the floor, clutching your stomach

Because you find it all so amusing.

You will take everything and rub it in his face,

And in his distaste, he will forget everything I ever gave.

Because you take and I give, and now he suffers.

Slurping up your lies for supper

He sees,

I am no better than you.

He feels he has been lied to,

That I threw away his good graces,

Exchanged them for your sugar 

That always turns into salt.

And maybe I did.

Maybe I made myself into a pie

Baked at 375, 20 minutes of cooking time.

Maybe I let you lick me off your plate, 

And gave him your scraps.

Or maybe I am just too used

To fill anybody up.