Those words have been abused
Mistreated
                                            Overused
I'm so sick of wondering
If I
      Am
             Just
                    Like
                            Them

Your eyes remind me of oceans
Not just because they're blue
But they're mysterious and unpredictable
And I know they're going to pull me under
'Till I'm drowning completely

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
All of these love songs
Remind me of you.
I'm getting real sick,
They all sound the same
About how they miss you
And they're screaming your name.
To be completely honest,
That's not how it goes,
You didn't leave your toothbrush,
Favorite books or your clothes.
You left just your memory
And I'll start to forget
'Till I have nothing
But despair and regret.

I cannot say that you don't love me
But I swear you stay a few seconds less every time
And  I find you leaning away
more often than leaning in
And your hand fumbles for my zipper
More than it does for my hand
And I know you say you love me
But I also know you thought you loved her
You tend to say things you don't mean often

With him, everything is just extremes
Because he makes me extremely happy and he makes me extremely sad
There's no in between
He has the power to make me feel
Like the sun is shuning for me
And the sunrise is something he drew
But this means he can crush everything I am
Until I'm shards of glass
Scattered on the floor
He's the type of boy
That can make June feel like the middle of November
But he makes my heart feel like I'm falling off the tallest tower
I'm falling into all that he is
I suppose they end the same

These words don't have any significance,
I see your eyes light up
as I say this once more.
But the taste is too familiar.
These words are razor blades
cutting into my throat.

I wrote a poem about you.

I hate to see you smile when I say this
because honestly,
I am the Taylor Swift of poets.
I have written poems about you
and five "yous" before yourself.

I know it is hard to believe
but I mean every word scribbled on this
ink filled,
tear stained,
coffee marked
napkin,
that I wrote on our first date.

and I mean every word neatly printed on that
water damaged,
slightly wrinkled,
late in arrival,
card,
The I wrote on her 16th birthday.

I mean every word I have
scribbled,
printed,
typed,
into neat little lines
for you
and her
and him
and her
and you
and him
and her
and you were not the first.