this is not a poem.*
this is a textbook covered in
scribbles and crossed out versions of
our love.
This is the music festival we met at
only the opening act is the fight that
ended it all.
This is the restaurant we had our
first date at, but the food is the spit up
promises you made that were broken.
This is your house. The house we had our
first kiss, but its empty, without a single
trace of us left behind in the floor boards.
This is you.
This is you telling me you love me
then ******* my best friend.
This is all of the hateful words I wish I could say
This is me still being in love with you
This is you not caring
and me pretending that I dont
This is the beginning
and this is the end.