When you asked me if I had ever written a poem about you,
I explained that I typically only write about what breaks me,
So I guess you wanted a poem so bad that you decided to rip my heart out of my chest, smash it, and leave it for me to clean up.
If you wanted a poem,
All you had to do was ask.
I would have written about how it felt the world was brighter when you kissed me
Or how waking up to you was the best thing in the world.
I would have written about all the mornings you made me breakfast and all the nights you made me dinner.
I would have written about how a love like this had never shown up at my heart’s door this way.
But now I’ll write about the way it felt when I walked away from you for the last time
When you swore this wasn’t permanent
But it was wasn’t it?
I’ll right about the letters I wrote to you, but never sent
And how when I think about all the plans we made for our future,
The ones you threw away,
I’m filled with red hot rage.
I’ll write about how I knew you never loved me,
But stayed anyway in hopes that one day
You would.