Things You Don't Like

The way I stack cutlery with the sharp bits facing down
The way my expression is fixed into a frown
The way I leave the sponge in the filthy sink to soak
The way I never listened to the words you spoke
The way I hang your woollens up over corners so they crease
The way I still play guitar when you ask me to cease
The way I leave skid marks on the pan and dribble piss upon the mat.
And chocolate on your white sofa in the indent where I sat
The way I fail to open the curtains, starving your plants of sunlight
The way I go all silent instead of spoiling for a fight
The way I leave my shoes on the floor for you to trip over in the dark
The way I forget to take the bin bags out when I go off to work
The way I leave bits of paper in the pockets of my trousers that I’ve put in the wash
My outdated expressions like ‘snazzy’ ‘toodle-oo’ and ‘gosh’
The way I wallow in illness and pander to pain
The way I never have an umbrella in the rain
The way I leave beard trimmings lying in the sink
The way I always push your feelings to the brink