If I Could Write Anger into Poetry

If I could write anger into poetry I'd write about how five months with someone has led me to almost 6 months of insanity

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he said he was depressed his sophomore year but I knew "was" wasn't the right tense of the word and I didn't say anything more

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how ******* him didn't change the way he treated me (not that I ever imagined we'd be here)

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about all the times he swore he wasn't talking to her

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I begged him to stay

If I would write anger into poetry I would write about my headache from screaming so loud the night I found out he was talking to her

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about the time they walked by me in the hallway and all of a sudden it all became too real; I was nothing.

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about the pit in my stomach and the tears in my eyes as I watched them wear matching colors at prom

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about watching the girl who called me " the ****** ex" take a snipe of me and send it to him as if I am blind to other teenage girls

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I swear I can still smell his cologne in the passenger seat of my car

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he broke up with me when all I wanted was him and he didn't break up with her when she cheated on him and how that makes me feel like every atom of my being is nothing

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I dreamt of literally trying to strangle an apology out of him and he kept saying "no, no, no"
If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how that doesn't compare to the dreams where he kisses my neck and tells me he still loves me

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about suddenly waking up at 5:00 am because my blood is boiling about the time almost a year ago we were waiting in line for popcorn and he said that his parents wouldn't care if he died and I didn't say anything more

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how I watched him laugh with his friends in school about how he ripped me apart vein by vein and months later he tries to tell me he is sorry

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how socially embarrassing it is to confide in the one person who betrayed you

If I could write anger into poetry I would write about how he's gotten worse and there's nothing I can say, nothing I can do. I am meaningless now.

If I could write anger into poetry, I would.

Break ups aren't looking at the city's skyline and realizing a whole new world ahead of you
They're not being able to get out of bed because the sadness has consumed even your bones

They aren't eating ice cream while watching a chick flick with your friends
They're 7 pounds of weight disappearing in a week because all you want is the taste of their lips

They are not listening to a playlist of break-up songs and feeling better
They are not being able to hear anything but the sound of his voice when he gets out of your car for the last ******* time when he says "I'm sorry, thanks for the ride."

They are not quietly crying to yourself alone in your room
They're headaches from screaming hard your muscles ache

They are not about forgiving yourself
They're sleeping till one pm and going to bed at 3 am because you can't seem to stop thinking about all the things you should've said

They're not drowning yourself in ***** so you can forget
They're waking up in the middle of the night infuriated and screaming into your sheets "Why me?"

They are not having everyone support you
They are listening to the snippy girls in the hallway call you "pyscho" even though they have no idea you are holding back tears

They aren't being able to move on
They are watching you first love walk down the hallway looking at her they way he used to look at you and it feels like you just got shot but can't seem to die so you live with the pain

They are not looking at the world and still seeing light despite your darkness.
They are hours in your room thinking "if the person I care about the most isn't going to give a **** about me, then what is the point?"