this is an angry poem
and like you've always wanted
this is about you.

this poem is every conversation we never had.
it's every time i stood backstage in my little black dress and prayed to God that we would make it through one more show.
its the day i watched movies with your mom and sister because you had better things on your to-do list than me.
or how when you fell asleep in my car
i drove you around our city for hours until practice started
because i know that even superman needs a break.
but really
this poem is about how you never would have done these things for me.

and another thing:
prom night.
and how i will never un-resent you
for letting me cry in the bathroom
until your ex girlfriend came in
and put her hand on my shoulder
and told me she knows how i feel.
as if she knew exactly where we stood
in that moment
so i thanked her
because i sure as hell didn't.

i spend a lot of time thinking about us now.
and how in thirty three days, 489 will be the number that defines us.
and i don't know how i can be angry with you for going to college
(for not taking me with you)
but i supposed in a year i will be where you are now and i'll do my best to understand
how you've always been one step ahead of me.

i realize that you're not going to change.
you will always be so deeply engrossed and infatuated in your reputation that you will never ponder the idea that you might not always be right.
and let me just tell you,
nothing bothers me more than the fact that if you were reading this right now all you would point out is my improper use of the second person.
and i would have to agree.

and this is why i'm sitting here right now racking my mind trying to find things to be angry with you about.
because i know a battle with you is a war i'll never win
so why fight.
and how all i've been saying to myself since you walked across that stupid stage is
"we've done a good thing here."
because i choose to believe that every time i put on that little black dress and helped you roll the lint off your black shirt, it was worth something.
and every time you looked at me from across the **** choir room and i knew you were just as in this as i was, it meant something.
and every time we pushed our own hearts out of the way to lead this army together, it was for something.
it was.
and yes, i understand that this is all up to me now and that's okay.
just promise me one thing.
you won't destroy any more hearts while trying to save the music.

and by the way.
thanks for forgiving me for all the things i didn't do.
this is my first angry poem about you,
and my last.
because you have a new town to save,
and i have a little black dress to put on.