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.