That Time

That time,

That time you called me,
I was busy, but made time.
Everyone else at the party, looking, wondering.
I made time,
You were alone,
You were stressed and hurting.
I made time, that time.

Many other times.

Now I am next to you and you leave me, ignore me.
Feel like an extra part.
I know I’ve been used. Know I’m the extra part.

But know that one time.
I felt something.
Maybe it was just me, and it wasn’t there.

You’ve left me.
When I was always there for you.

That other time,
You upset,
I on the phone,
Just walked home,
You called drunk,
Not wanting to drink alone.
I changed and walked back,
We laughed, we sang, we joked, and played around
I was there.
You weren’t.
Those messages, snapchats and statuses,
About me,
To make another jealous.

I pretended not to notice.
I pretended it was fine,
Still do
Not mentioned it.
Not to hurt you.
Not to be hurt by you.
I cared,
That other time.
You used me.

Bursting to tears now.
In public,
Next to you,
As you still continue to use me.
Still continue to have me as an extra part.

I cared.
I care.
I hurt.
That time.

Always Making Things Worse

Always making things worse,

Seems like the only thing I can do.

Nothing ever works.

All the pain I cause,

All the strife I orchestrate merely trying to feel better, to cope,

Even as I try not to cause harm.

I do so in the end anyway.

All done,

All hurting.

Just to make someone else feel good.

Who doesn’t care for me.

Who uses me.

I give up.

I cannot give any help.

Cannot do anything but give pain

All I do makes things worse.

Even when the opposite is my intention.

I’m here.

Always making things worse.