I don't want to be this pathetic artist
And I don't want life to pass me by,
Leaving a bunch of broken poems
Behind. I don't want people to remember
Me as the sad writer, who poured tears
On her notes and cried her heart out.
You left me, that's it.
You just came and devastated my world,
So what?
I don't want this pain to define who I am
And I don't want this feelings you provoke
To become my footprints.
You're not here anymore; I've got nothing
More, but to move on . . .
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