Hurt

 In truth I knew the moment that you

Turned to live a life anew

Was when you saw the picture of him

And didn't refer to him as your baby

I can't be mad because I've been where you're at

Unsure of where you find your home or habitat 

My faults my own for I care far too much

That I'm willing to bleed than be walled up and such.


Yet then you message telling me to 

“Tell my son ‘meow’” which broke me too

Confused by such I still feel your love

So why do I feel like a discarded glove?


Something tells me this isn't the end, 

But it feels so complicated that it's hard to comprehend

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