You never were a fan of my laugh;
you thought it was too loud, too proud- too juvenile
and you never did like my voice
you thought it was too raspy and you knew
that it was from smoking too many cigarettes

I was a fan of your smile
and how it seemingly never shrunk or faltered,
it was always plastered on
and not even as if you were forcing it
I think you were just always genuinely happy with the world
and life in general

You hated the freckles on my arms
and laughed at my mom when she called them beauty marks
I always wondered why you even stayed as long as you did

I always wondered how it was possible for me
to love someone who so obviously didn't feel the same
who so badly wanted me out of their life
and I guess now you have what you wanted
because I'm gone

It's kind of scary how even my ghost still writes poems about you