Pretty Girl

A poem about being used, again.

Photo by Becca Schultz on Unsplash

I need to know what you want from me
I could’ve been your pretty girl
But I know that’s not what you see.

We only convene on specific days
That quickly turn into nights
And I don’t think that’s by mistake.

Am I just here to pass the time —
To make heaven out of yours
While you waste all of mine?

To kiss your wounds and trace your scars
And suck your dick
While I tell you how great you are.

For getting over a heartbreak — what was the name of that bitch?
It doesn't even matter now, baby
I’m just so proud you did.

Now you can accept my praise with your walls up high
And when you’re feeling generous
You can throw me a bone from between my thighs.

And don’t forget to kiss my face in the tender moments before and after
It’s your silent little promise to me
That you’re not just a really good actor.