I found this in a notebook of mine, it must have been from months and months ago . . i just wanted to share it . . . so that iw ould acknowledge it myself:

Give me a reason to be mad
jsutify this rage
let me feel i am allowed
to want to throttle you
for what is really
my own flaw
a night of melted ice cream
and washin gmachines
pretreating the stain
of where you made me bleed
on my brand new yellow comforter
that last of my hymen
or at least so i hope
I'm jinxed by a poem
I wrote before I fucked you
made love once
on the floor with the
saran wrap of desperation
the second time late at night
absent with friends
under the pretence
of fetching cigarettes
with a condom so thin it
scared me
as though your skin had
a strange new texture
and we left a stain
on my boing white blanket
for which you apologized
profusely
and i couldnt wash away
until the next day
because i had no quarters
and it left a slightly
yellow stain
which i later could not find
then tonight or was
it yesterday
(it has grown too late to tell)
the fated 3rd time
of my goddam poem
(but it said 3 condoms
does the saran wrap count?)
and a new stain
for which we both complained
on a yellow bedspread i bought
to cover the broing white
which came with me
to wash away
then we went out to eat
but instead began to leave
for a rown
an hour away
which i could not go to
but you left without me
and i made a mountain
of yellow fuzz
in the dryer all alone
and im smoking the cigarettes
i swore i wouldnt
for i have an audition tomorrow
and i dont want to ruin my voice
but i feel too alone
and my ice cream is soup
so i have nothing else
to indulge
except for my anger
my bitter self hatred
that i havent the balls
or the self esteem
to say what i want
and every time
you fuck me
make love to me
defile me
break me
make me bleed
i find one more word
i cannot say to you
and the night
my roommate
is far away
i cant find you
or anyone to keep me warm
so i come out to teh cold
to smoke
(and ruin tomorrows audition)
and wai tto see when you'll come back
as though it will be
at a reasonable hour
when you left near 9
2 hours of travel
3 hours or more
of smoking and revelry
makes you home near 2
and what am i to do till then?
shall a night of freedom
be wasted
like all those wasted
hours before i came here
that i was so sure would
not eb wasted
now are sent astray
and i cannot sleep
though classes start tomorrow
nore eat for it all makes me sick
i want to talk to you
have a real
conversation

and thats all there was, it must have been written less than a week after i moved to greensboro. and i makes reference to this poem which you should read if you havent because it is very good.
when i reread this . . it makes everything seem so inevitable and makes me wonder why i took a month to reach a conclusion.