Little Fury Bugs

I knew that once I'd given you my
poetry it was a sign
that I trusted you.
Every paper-clipped packet
of poems that landed on
your desk in these three years
was an extension of myself
that I trusted you with.

I don't think I trust you anymore.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to
give you poems ever again,
or talk to you about real life
anymore.

I'm really, really saddened by this.
I was sure we'd be friends.
I could trust you.
I told you a lot of things
I hadn't really told other people.
Something about you 
different and I thought
maybe we were similar,
but I think you've changed,
and I know I've changed,
and maybe we just can't be 
friends ever.

It doesn't matter
if you once said
I was your favorite poet,
in jest or seriously
I don't know.

It doesn't matter 
that we've spent hours 
talking about literature.

It doesn't matter that
you helped me get through
my first anxiety attack
and told me you cared.

You've been rude to me lately,
you've been absolutely
different and I don't
like this version of you.

I don't think you care,
I don't think you're sincere,
and I don't trust you.

As soon as you started acting
like a jerk,
I revoked every nice thing
I'd ever said about you.