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You’re Not the Favorite

Yes, hun, you’ve told me
Couldn’t make yourself clearer
You call me worthless
Have you looked in the mirror?
You call me useless
Pot, the kettle’s on line two
You call me the bad child
No one can compare to you
You think you’re the good one
Mom doesn’t love you any more
You think you’re the favorite
You mean nothing to the whore

July 26, 2011

Published inPoetry