Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

God Thinks You’re a C**t, But He’s Humouring Me, Because I’m His Favourite Daughter

I knelt beside fresh bed sheets,

smoothing them across the mattress,

until no crease could be found,

trying to find something to fill up my mind,

so it wasn’t occupied with the things I’ll never have again.

I said a prayer for a man last night,

who made so many mistakes.

I know he needs it,

because I was a mistake he made,

and now I think of him every now and again.

I think I loved him most,

when he seemed lost,

and lonely,

when he saw me as his future,

not predicting,

in that moment,

that it could be with someone else,

because when he thought that,

he was mine alone,

and sometimes,

I pray that I can love unselfishly,

without the need to be the whole world to one person,

but it’s harder and harder,

when you go from a world,

to a country,

a city,

and then nothing,

again and again.

I don’t think I love him anymore,

but I pray for him,

all the same,

because if he’s happy,

maybe he’ll return the heart he stole from me,

and I can mail him back the mega drive I felt guilty about accepting for my birthday.

I was making my bed,

somewhere far away,

where I could be alone,

trying not to check the weather where he lives,

trying not to wait for a reply that will never come,

because he’s not my problem anymore,

and I am becoming a problem to myself,

with the way I wade in old habits,

that are sure to drown me,

in the end.


I catch myself cursing him,

wishing him an unhappy existence,

as some form of revenge,

because hell hath no fury,

like those who didn’t see betrayal coming,

wrapped in a weird mix of manic hurt and minor humiliation.

I’m not a stupid girl,

not really,

just the kind of girl who wants to believe in the world around her,

because being bitter and jaded takes a little piece of you,

every time your cynical side descends and kisses you,

just on the back of your neck,

as it drops a little poison in your ear.

I don’t want to be poisoned.

I want to be positive.

I pray for him,

every night,

not for him,

but for me,

because I wanted him so much,

that I don’t know how to stop.

I want to say that I’m healing,

but I’m trying to give up lying,

it’s not even Lent,

and yet,

I want to get right with God,

myself and all the problems that follow me.


I pray for him,

in a way that I can say is for myself,

because I hate him,

but I want him to be happy,

so that I know he’ll never come back,

because I’m so weak,

that I’ll take him back,

no matter what he did to me,

because my self respect is dead,

and there’s something wrong in my head that says I need him,

and I know him,

he needs help to keep his shit together,

or he finds someone else,

and I could be on his radar,

and I can’t say no,

not to him,

I won’t let go,

if he lets me back in,

I will hold on,

with that other girl’s name playing loudly in my head,

writing whole operas to drown her out,

so I can pretend that I can go back.

I can’t go back.

I can’t go back,

and so I pray for him,

that he’ll be happy,

somewhere far away from my reach,

so I can find a way to be happy too.

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