Today, I stop loving you.  
Today, I move on
that's what I told myself.  

But the truth sticks,  
like gum on my shoe,  
like your name in my throat.  

I realize now,  
you might not love me,  
and if you do,  
the way you show it is twisted,  
messed up.  

You don’t love me.  
I know that now.  
Not after the poem you showed me,  
the one that looked like love,  
but wasn’t.  

I felt hurt  
because I loved you.  
The poem I shared?  
That was about you.  
But I never said it.  

Now my friends tease me.  
Every time he sees me,  
he screams your name,  
and my heart tightens.  
It reminds me
I still love you.