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
love.
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.
LegallyFierceFeminist 