The Dog


I'm the dog
in the middle
of the street,
a white dog,
a maltese,
with the shit stuck
to the hair
around my
ass, walking
to the other side
of the road,
that you honk
at while you
drive so I
can get the
hell out
of your
way.

I'm the gum
stuck between
the ridges
of your sole,
that you feel
each time you
take a step
because
the concrete
pulls me
to it,
and you walk
like that till
the day turns
night, and it's 8:00 p.m.
and you're with
a paper clip
scraping
me off
before
bed.

I'm the shot
of cheap vodka your
body does not
want, that will
make you
call the person
you should not
call, I spill
onto your chin
and you wipe
me off
with your
knuckles.

I'm the face
you make
when you
weep, tears
that come
when they
come
but never
when you
expect it,
or when
you want.

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This Poems Story

This poem is a reflection of what I feel about myself during my lowest moments.