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She was the kind of girl the that poets would spend centuries writing about.

He was the kind of boy that people have been singing songs about for generations.

And the combination of the two created nothing less than a masterpiece.
Their words were engraved in my brain like a tattoo.

Permanent and, on occasions, regretful.
The people in her life have perfected this song and dance.
They paint pictures of the lives they want,
perfect with no imperfections or blemishes,
and put it on display for all to see.

But not she.


She didn't pretend to be happy.
She didn't pretend that she wasn't in pain.
She just hurt out loud and hoped somebody was listening.
A relationship with me is much like stepping on a grenade.

Thrilling, terrifying. and bound to implode.

So, if I find another great love,
I will not ask them to grow old with me.

I will ask them to


with me.
Our love story is much like a fairy tale.

You became the wind in the sea
that made our ship sail.
You brought light to me
when all darkness fell.
And it's still you who makes my heart swell.

Everything about us has always been cliche.

From the way we initially met
to our very first date.
All the love notes I kept
that are still stored away.
I'll always think of you and that day in the hallway.

I fell for you fast.

It was easy since you were a flirt,
but it still took you by surprise
when not much time had passed
and I told you..

"I love you, so much that it hurts."

But our story never foretold of the years to come.

We had no idea that we would be here today.
Our love so dead, long since numb.
I still pour water on our grave
and pray to God that it might sprout, some.
But, of growth, there has been none.

So, I sit here in your shirt

and I continue to type on.
Converting my thoughts into words,
telling of our love gone.
And as I whisper into the darkness, my eyes blurred.

"I said it hurts."
For whoever reads this,

The first person I ever loved was not myself, but him, and maybe that was my biggest mistake.

I learned to love the dimple on his cheek, and the lines under his eyes when he smiled.
I learned to love the way his eyes turned angry when we yelled at each other, to love the way his hands tightened around my arms.
I loved the way his lips lingered on my skin after begging me to peel off my layers of my clothes.
I dug up every little piece of who he was, and planted it inside my heart.
I kept love for him everywhere I went, and even when he left me, my heart was still full.
I had put so much effort into loving him, that I forgot to love myself.
I saw no beauty unless the beauty I saw was his eyes, I saw no greater happiness, than when I saw his smile.

So, whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt numb, I felt hate.

I could not love the way my hair got wavy when it was damp, even though I always twirled pieces of his hair in my fingers.
I could not feel sweet melancholy when tears ran down my face, but I could when I wiped away his.
I could not get undressed and look at my skin, because it was only worth looking at when he looked.

I could not love myself, because I thought it was supposed to be fulfilled by someone else.

I had become nothing but a daisy, waiting for my petals to be picked, he loves me, he loves me not.

I only ever felt love, when it was given to me by someone else.
I could not feel love if it was given to me by myself.

I could only love me when he loved me, but now he doesn't.

He loves her.
"Is there something wrong with you?
A loose ***** or two that ruined your ability to function?
Why are you always so tired?
Your life is uninspired and small;
all you do is sprawl on the couch with outstretched limbs like a sloth in slow-motion.
Where is your devotion to succeed, Maia?
Did it drift out your window with the smoke from your ****?
Do I have to force feed you discipline ‘til you finally concede?
I cook and I clean and I don't stop ‘til the soles of my feet bleed.
But I'm fine.
I'm perfect.
Be perfect, Maia.
Be perfect like me.

Stop wearing those god awful ripped pants
and that lipstick like a ***** with double-d implants.
You only get one chance.
Stop acting like a cat with nine lives left.
Stop committing yourself to songs and stories and spoken slam ******* in a world where degrees and PhD's impede the need for poetry.
And stop chewing on your nails.
No wonder you've never attracted any males.
Why do you do that?
Do you like the taste?
Are they sweet?
You can't eat sweets, Maia.
You're ruining your teeth like you're ruining your life.
My teeth are perfect.
Clean and pristine.
They gleam like the golden halo above my perfectly conditioned head.
I don't need sugar, Maia.
I am above sugar.

Why are you down here, Maia?
Why are you down here when you need to be up here?
Up here with the ones who have a promising career
Who listen when information goes in one ear
and doesn't come out the other.
You'll never be up here, Maia.
You act as if the act of listening is a crime
or you would have heard me the six hundred and sixty-sixth time
Stop chewing on your nails like a ******* piece of trash.
You can't be trash, Maia.
You have to be perfect.
Be perfect like me.

I get up at 5 in the morning, every day.
I start my day the same way, worried that I'll collapse
as my bones start to decay from cleaning up your scraps.
Why is your room such a mess?
The clothes go in the hamper, Maia.
Not displayed on your bed like your lack of morals.
Not littered on the floor collecting more dust than my withered expectations.
You disregard my rules with stubborn contempt
in a substandard attempt at teenage rebellion.
But you can't be a rebel, Maia.
You're not interesting enough.
You need to obey, and say 'yes' and 'okay'
You need to do it with a smile on your less than average face.
You need to try harder, Maia.
Make it wider, Maia.
Why don't you know how to smile?

You disappoint me, Maia.
You never appreciate what I do for you.
You never try to be a winner.
And you never eat your dinner.
You never eat the dinner I consistently provide for you
as I constantly remind you of the life I set aside for you.
That meal doesn't pay for itself.
I don't care if it's ideal, stop telling me how you feel.
You need to eat it.
Eat it all.
Eat it at a reasonable time with a glass of milk.
You need milk, Maia.
You need calcium like you need a catalyst for growth.
You'll never grow to be tall.
Be tall like me.
I drink my milk, Maia.
Drink your ******* milk.
Be tall.
Be perfect.
Be perfect like me.

You need to pay more attention, Maia.
Stop daydreaming, Maia.
Stop staring at the ceiling as if your one redeeming quality lies hidden in the plaster.
You need to organize your life.
Your life is a disaster.
Just like your room.
Just like your teeth.
Just like your future,
Which will soon come to an end if you don't put down that pen.
You need to stop writing, Maia.
Your life is not a book.
Don't give me that look, Maia.
I'm just trying to help you.
I'm just trying to love you.
I'm just trying to love you.
You have to let me love you
so that you can be perfect.
Be perfect like me."
I just want to put out a disclaimer that this is NOT my poem, and I give all rights to the true author and narrator, Maia Mayor.
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