I never wanted to write poems about her
(Unless intentionally)
Because if she came back it would feel embarrassing,
Because I wouldn’t want to mark her like that,
As someone who I felt guilty about giving a reason to be guilty.
Usually when I write poems it’s about something or someone who really hurt me,
And I could never let that be true
So I never allowed myself to write about her like that,
Because I would tell her everything but I wouldn’t want to tell her that.
And now I know she’s not coming back,
But I don’t want to do it still,
I know I do it anyway,
But I can’t make myself press delete
On things that mean she’s never coming back to mess me around again.
My heart, or maybe my soul, can’t forget
That we were supposed to still be best friends.