It's a Friday night
and here I am,
writing yet another poem
About you.

You and your brown eyes,
You and that smile I'm still not over,
You and the way you used to look at me.

But you're not the same you that you were before.
You're too busy pleasing everyone,
Letting them change you into a you
that I don't even recognize anymore.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is,
Why did you let them get in the way
Of what we could've had?

Because I'm not really writing this poem
About you after all,
I'm writing it about the you
I used to know.