poem-a-dime

I find pages and pages of publicly professed hurt and hate from him for me

But ultimately, I never earned a single word born out of your quill

Can I buy a poem about me from you for a dime? 

It doesn’t even have to rhyme. Or be a poem, at all. 

Just a little memento, a little touch-me-forget-me-not by you, for me. 

Something that says I made a mark, or at least a little pen ink scribble.

I’m the bearer of destruction, the wrecking ball of his life, and not even a footnote in yours.

Something tells me that I’ve gotten the exact tainted fate he wished upon me. 

Being forgotten, never existing.