you, your letters are infinitely more beautiful.
everything about you was -the bite in your words,
the beauty.

you, unassuming.
your tops, looking unintentional,
but all carefully picked.

i fell in love when i saw you’re writing,
because your words told me writing was beautiful.
magical, musical, unassuming.

but you’re also a total *****,
a girl who gets all the love
and leaves you feeling rotten.

what kind of girl, what kind of beauty
targets a younger, admiring, girl,
making her feel *****?

cruel. of course, my friends know it.
i, i scramble in shock,
to deny it. you know.

and i hate you now,
somehow your writing doesn’t seem like it did,
beautiful. but it still is the best i’ve seen.

i think back to you,
wonder if my writing is just as pretty,
as the girl who was my first muse.