Whenever I took a silly joke you made personal, when you knew me too much to let me hide that fact, you always told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When I cried to you over the phone when I told you I felt my friends were replacing me, you told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When I forgave you for making the same mistake for the hundredth time, you told me I was too good and I would get hurt.
When you walked away I understood fully.
You were not being negative minded as I always said you were, you were being painfully realistic and brought me down just like you wanted to- down to Earth, but also down to pieces.
I was too good, just as what we had was too good to be true.

She was nothing but
empty mess inside her being.
It was eating her inside out
as she thought of leaving.
Leaving this world
seemed like the best idea
until the owner of the
beautiful eyes appeared.
He took her breath away,
cured her broken heart,
the pain was no longer there.
In a heart beat, she fell for him.

Art is about expressing your emotions,
but my sheet of paper stayed blank
because that's what I felt.
I was empty.

It still hurts as much as yesterday.

Your heart was never hers.
She loved you,
but you loved someone else.

Everyone would congratulate for how strong I was,
for how much I've decided to take in.
But I am not strong,
I am the weakest of all,
because while people are strong enough
to let go of things that do them wrong,
to not settle for less than they deserve,
for recognizing it so,
I am still here.
Holding on to you as if it did me any justice,
hoping that one day you'll change,
and at the same time,
hoping one day I'll be strong enough
to let go of you,
who does me wrong.