Sierra Mazzucca's Poetry site

Is this my retribution?
And does it fit the crime?
I must’ve been some kind of mass murderer, in a past life.
I mean, was I?
What did I do?
No really, I’m asking you.
How could I have messed up so egregiously, for your endless cooperation to punish me?
Knowing my picker is broken.
You still don’t step in to stop me, from seeking unavailability within the male vicinities.
Or stop me from me finding someone, who can abuse me better than me.
By these copy paste guys who are inaccessible, mentally, and emotionally.
You send them my way skipping and whistling.
Knowing their only mission is to break me down mentally and spiritually.
You grew a tree, that dangles the poison fruit in front of me.
Knowing I’m hungry.
I want love, desperately.
And you’re bored.
So you play with me.
Your personal Polly pocket dolly.
And misery is certainty, after eating poison you made from part of your creation of “everything”.
Causing me to be some sort of magnet for guys who will never love me.
I’m just a fun time. A pass time. A short time.
They have no time, to put in us time.
So what I have gathered is you want me to play witness this lifetime.
And watch others fall in love, even ones that I wished were mine.
Just feels like I will never able to experience the same kind of bliss in this life.
I am genuinely curious what your plan is with me, and why?
Because I am tired of being the backup, and runner up.
While you build the love of their life.
When will you prepare mine?
Do I have to wait another lifetime?