Puppy Eyes

I really should get a life.

This is my sixth poem

In a span of four days.

But then again

I still do stuff

But it's called work.

Although I also try to overcome

That heart-squeezing feeling

That I get when my five-year-old dog

Catches me with food

And makes a face

Like he's a starved dog of the street.

But my dad yells

When I feed him table scaps

Because he thinks the dog is too fat.

So I don't give him food

And when he walks away


I want to cry.

And he probably thinks

I don't love him anymore

But I do, doggy,

I do!

Then will go smother him with affection

Until he's had it

And gets up

And clicks down the stairs.

The End

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