Hipster Girl gone Bad

Call me a flower,

maybe I’m made of regret,

and false dreams.

Grown in a soil of hope,

but drowned in a river

of shame.

Boy of 16.

Told me he could feel my pain,

but his Tumblr had cats.

I couldn’t recall the way he smiled

when he said it

would be okay.

He coaxed the dog out of the shed.

He fed it my feelings and called it


I went above my

expectations of

hipster girl gone bad.

I was mad to think I belonged.

He wrote me a song,

called it ‘bitch’ and asked me if

my ignorance itched my skin.

I asked him if hell burned him

to the core.

My hands were so sore when

I beat them so hard I bled.

Hushed dreams of a boy who

turned a hipster girl bad.



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