I just don’t get it. At all.

I mean, it’s not a problem. I just don’t understand why you keep doing it, or what you get out of it.

I’ve never approved your comments and I never will. The first one you ever sent I trashed immediately because it reeked of sweaty pervy pig. They go straight to spam automatically now, I don’t even have to do it manually anymore.

I don’t read your creepy little messages. I just bulk delete them with all the online casino and dating site spam.

I’m not attracted to men. And even if I was, you are not the kind of man I would want. You are sleazy and creepy and your poetry is awful.

Do you think you’re being romantic or seductive? Do you think your words are enticing?

Well they’re not.

Your poems are just grubby and clumsy and ugly and to be honest, they smell vaguely rapey. I don’t like you. I don’t want you. I never will.

I barely notice you. And when I do its because you make my skin crawl.

It’s just so puzzling. You live on the other side of the world. Why even bother?

I will never ever be your kitteh kat, offline or online or whatever or wherever or whenever not ever. This pretty kitty is only for girls.

Always will be, always was. That will never change. And certainly not for a mangy scabby alley stalker like you.

Go away. Or don’t.

Just understand. Or don’t.

I do not care.

For you. Or about you. At all.

Not even a little bit.

Although I did enjoy writing this. Mocking you. Laughing at your limp impotence.

And calling you a mangy scabby alley stalker was fun.

But now I’m going back to forgetting you even exist. Going back to just deleting your crap with all the other crap.

Oblivious of your weak bullshit.

 

Not Your Kitteh