And I don’t think it’s fair that you get to ignore me and pretend that I don’t exist. When you were whispering my name the last time we kissed. And I don’t think it’s fair that you get to turn your back on me, while I’m left standing here to be. There’s these left over words still in my hands. They slip through my fingers the same way you slip right past me without saying goodbye. If the conditions of our existence depend on hurting each other then honey, you couldn’t be more alive. And I don’t think it’s fair that you get to act like we were never friends- as if keep away were still a popular sport. And I don’t think it’s fair that you cross my mind fifty times a day, while I merely sit in your palm as a pawn waiting to be moved night and day. I’m so tired of being told to sit and wait, it’s something I’ve begun to hate. But hates a strong word so I’ll say this instead, I’m done biding my time until I’m moved by your hand, and all the while you’re holding hers. Afraid of you staying behind and giving me more reasons to try to rhyme. Pushing and pulling and wanting to have my way, so I’ll sit here with nothing left to say.