To the girl who thinks she is the other girl:
He wears your hickies proudly.
As distasteful as they are he parades them into my room each morning after you've left his bed.
And-as distasteful as it is he tells me about all the *** positions you're great at-and the ones you **** at, too.
Yet when I walk through the door your body language expresses jealousy as he asks how my day was.
As I take a seat far away from him.
As push myself into a conversation with someone else-Push myself into a different room.
Because I want you to feel like I'm not trying to hurt you.
I wear my lungs down in continuous smoke breaks outside to lighten the uncomfortable presence that you have created in a house that him and I used to call ours.
And you don't know that I wonder too-Why his touch is different from when I am peering through the window and when I am sitting on the couch.
But you don't know that when  you are not there he holds me.
But you don't know that no one can be there when he holds me. And the doors better be locked, too. And even though they are-let's do this under the blanket just in case someone has a key-and let's hide this in the dark in case someone can look through the window.
And I see him kissing you in my peripherals-I hear the zipper pulls behind his broken door-I hear you begging him for more.
You leave marks all over his skin like you're trying to claim territory-but you got him. You got him don't you see?
Because our eyes don't meet when we're laying together. And I'd like to believe he holds my hands tighter than yours because when he squeezes my finger tips I feel the pure energy of his love. But no! Our eyes don't meet, because then maybe our lips would.
You're the kind of girl who men high-five each other over. **** you got that girl in bed last night kinda chick.
You're the kinda of girl he ***** sober.
He grips my arms with such conviction that he's going to make love to me when we are drunk and just as quickly falls asleep in my lap.
Last time we drank together he picked me up and twirled me around and whispered in my ear "I can do this because I am a man"
And I'm still trying to figure out if that was a fat joke-or he'd be a man for me.
But right now he's acting like a child for me. And maybe it's because I have too many curves to be considered beautiful, and maybe it's because he doesn't want to ruin it-but he ruins it-when he touches me-when he holds me to sleep and tells me he's glad there's no other me-and he ruins it when he keeps on with you.
Because you know, you ain't the other girl, you might just be another girl... but at least you're not a secret.