I've read enough to know that dialogue is dangerous with you.
Your conversations are monologues in disguise.
And your feet are planted firmly in irrationality,
Though you seem to be the poster child for logic.

But when the day with you is done
And feelings weighed,
Your side of the scale will fly
With nothing on it,
While mine will drag with heavy bags of
Something I can't put my finger on.

And so tonight my soliloquy
Is short,
To put up with your shit
Or not.
And tonight, I think , "Not,"
Therefore, I am.

- jenn