scratchings

I'll put up a few poems I found the other day.
Typing them is all good, but there's nothing as cathartic as taking a pen to paper. I can still catch my feelings better there than on a flippin' keyboard.

"You are the only woman I ever loved,"
I've heard that one before.
What is it with me?
What makes me so special?
One made me feel like property
The other I struggled desperately not to
strangle.
I think another is coming up
But what will become of it?

I'd ostracize another family I care about, if I haven't already.