#badpoems

Too desperate?

Did I annoy you?

With all of my overthinking?

For what fault of mine

Did you decide

That you were better off alone”

and every day i grew more and more afraid

that when you realized just how much i loved you

you would reveal to me how it was all a game”

I’m so ready for the downfall of Megan Fox. Got the popcorn waiting and front row seat

People need to stop portraying every woman as a victim.

He deserves someone good in his life and I don’t think she was it. I think genre sadboy showed us that, and that book she wrote for him playing her as the little victim once again.

Exactly, I just feel like at some point we have to realize that she picks out these so-called "bad" men, there has to be some accountability for her. Because the only reason I feel like she goes with these men is because she like and wants to fix them but not for them to be better and healed but to feed her ego.

This is a weird example but it's like when I rather clean the kitchen or living room rather than my own room because I don't want to deal with my own mess. I feel like that's how Megan moves through the world. She rather fix, help Colson with his addiction, mental issues etc then her insecurities and mental baggage.

Genre sadboy really highlighted things that I already had suspected. If you look back at the songs where she is the inspo for, the lyrics if u look deep enough, you realize he has been telling us this since the beginning of their relationship. Even her own book. Most of those poems, she does not give any of these men she talks about any sort of grace and not saying some of them deserve it but like Megan you sort of choose these men, so u had to had liked them or cared for them at one point. Especially when one of them, u are currently having a baby with.

Another thing with the poems, the way she wrote them or other poems, it came off very juvenile and burn book then letting go of the evil of me. There were some words or poems where it was just her making fun of the men and making jokes about it. Like the one about her and raya or talking about how he was small, like it just seemed petty. But what I hated the most was the one sentence poems, those aren't poems or do better. Btw, I never bought the book, I just listened to it once through Spotify, which that's a whole other complaint I have.

If I could rewrite, both they would go something like this:

I will always be in love with the man,

that you will never become,

infatuated with that version of you

until it drives me off a cliff

drowning in a sea of madness

and killing the woman that would have been

perfect for you

Something like that, so it could seem more like she went crazy because he did not realize the potential, he had to be a better man and the woman that was madly in love with as well.

Your loves leaves bloodstains on my sheets

I loved those sheets, they were expensive

and made out of rare silk

It does not matter anyway: you will just tell me to

toss those away, or burn them, anything to get rid of

the evidence of your crimes against me

Then you will buy some more and

then some more

because you are loaded with not just money

but other victims as well.

I know I have to. Eventually.

My only other option is to tear apart my life at the seams to pull you out of it, but i'd lose so much more than I could bear.

You may be the only person i've ever been truely honest with, but you never really wanted me in the first place.

I'm not sure you even want me now.

I want you always.

You have become the empty feeling in my chest.

The tear that slips out every time i close my eyes.

The feel of the bathroom tile under my cheek.

You are with me always.

And it will never be enough.

So i have to meet your girlfriend.

And i have to be polite.

And she will ask me questions

Drawing the answers from me like some poisoned sacrifice to the gods of the space between us.

She is trying to close the gap.

It is sitting just behind our left shoulder.

A hulking indeterminate shadow with lamps for eyes.

We sit, frozen.

Unable to move, unable to breathe.

It sits, poised.

Neither a god nor a demon

But a wild thing with a heart of flame.

Waiting.

Waiting for what, we could not say.

Does it mean to devour or protect us?

We know not what it will do.

She is tired of pretending to be grown up.

She tired of saying fine when you ask how we are, when she knows perfectly well we didn't eat dinner last night because all the dishes were dirty and we simply couldn't be bothered.

She is tired of smiling and nodding as you insistently explain things we have no interest in.

She is tired of doing things for you.

She is tired of your gaping need to own a piece of us.

She is tired of holding back.

They delight in my ornate mask,

The one that hides my face.

The one they beg me to remove that they may gaze upon me.

The one that causes them to scream in terror every time it slips.

I am not beauitful to behold.

I am a twisted mass of pain and longing.