This is just something I tossed up yesterday in an emotional fit. The intent was to write for a spoken word performance. That means it is pretty rough and a bit awkward. Don't be gentle but do be constructive. On mobile so my apologies for poor formatting in advance. Thanks!
Snapchat
When I first talked to you, I didn't know who you were. 1 week later you were my best friend. You had no idea, I didn't want to ruin it. 1 month later you were still my best friend. You had no idea, I didn't want to ruin it. 1 month later you were still my best friend. You had no idea, I didn't want to ruin it. 1 week later I switched classes: suggested by my teacher. She didn't need to tell me that honors English wouldn't help me help you understand me. 3 months later we talked again. Needless to say I was pretty excited. If you didn't know, my decision to ask to add you on Snapchat was no less calculated than my algebra homework. Remember that time you called me a faggot? Ha. Yeah good times right? I laughed and ya know I pestered you about it. You called me butt hurt and then I laughed. Now the entirety of my feelings for you, your effect on my happiness, my dependence, and if only you knew about my dependence, it all exists in that Snapchat icon - that yellow background almost too similar to your perfect hair color engulfing a white ghost almost too perfect for representing my vulnerability. So you called me a faggot.. Ah good times.. Good times. 3 weeks later, I asked for your number.. I told you I liked you; how much I appreciate you. You said "no problem pal". Haha "pal". Then you called me a faggot. Someone might tell me that I'm a little fucked up. Someone would tell me I'm a little fucked up. Someone better know I know I'm a little fucked up. If Snapchat ever taught me anything it's that you're my best friend. Thats what it said. 742 points, you're the only girl I really ever talk to. STOP REMINDING ME I'M A LITTLE FUCKED UP. Not you I'm sorry I'm so sorry. Please I really like you please no don't go please I'm sorry. Sorry. My mind does that some time, freaks out a little too much. Facebook tells me, one new message, "WHATTA FAGGOT", sent at 1:14 AM. Haha you're so funny. I was definitely gonna get you back for that one. "bitch".... Sending.. Sending... Sent... Opened... I've never called someone a bitch before and yet here I am saying it to my best friend. God dammit please I want to tell you how much I hate calling you a bitch and how much I hate it when you call me a faggot. Yeah FUCK YOU FOR REMINDING ME HOW FUCKED UP I AM. I don't like it when you call me weird, I don't like it when you call me 'faggot'. Remember what Snapchat told me? You're my best friend. I know I said fuck you but fucking you is that last thing I think about when I picture your perfect face with your blonde hair engulfing my white ghost of insecurities. 742 points. You called me weird. I cried. I know, I know, it's fucked up to cry. I want to inform you that I can't bring myself to write a poem unless I can cry as the words spill out of my mouth. And onto the parcel they pour, pour faster than the tears from my eyes as I remember the first time I talked to you. 1 month later it will be March. I don't know what the future holds. If it holds you, it will probably hold tears, Snapchat, but no longer will I leave the daggers of your teasing in my soul that you never took out, but left in so as to not allow this dud of a relationship to bleed out and die. 1 month later I hope to have torn them out myself.