It's Friday, 6p.m.
A ring from the doorbell, three knocks, ring again.
That same old stupid routine of his.
I sigh and force myself to walk to the door,
to the so-called "man" that broke my heart
and has come to take my world away like every Friday before
(meanwhile fighting every urge to lock up
and leave him standing there).
The usual, hollow script to follow upon opening:
Hello, how are you, what time do I get him back?
Damn the courts.
He doesn't deserve the weekends
even if he thinks it's his "right".
Damn the agreements.
He doesn't deserve to take everything I work for away.
Damn him.
My world is my own.
Not for any other selfish pig,
who could care less about the mother of his child,
to take as he pleases.
A check and lonliness every week
like I'm some cheap, unappreciated whore.
Is this life?
What it's all about?
Fighting with the man I once loved?
This isn't how I saw it.
He probably doesn't even care about his kid.
Just takes him to stab and twist at me
over and over again.
Bring him back.
He belongs with me, not you.
You screwed me over once already.
End my suffering.
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