Perhaps it was me”

Perhaps it was me, who drew the line
Between love and heartache, between what's mine
Perhaps it was me, who walked away
From the ghosts of our past, from the price we'd pay

Perhaps it was me, who chose to hide
Behind the mask of pride, where emotions divide
Perhaps it was me, who let go too soon
Of the threads that bound us, of the love we'd begun

Perhaps it was me, who didn't say
The words that needed saying, the words that could've stayed
Perhaps it was me, who didn't try
To bridge the gap between us, to reach the other side

But perhaps it was me, who learned to let go
To release the weight of what could've been, to watch it flow
Perhaps it was me, who found my way
Through the darkness and the pain, to a brighter day

Perhaps it was me, who discovered my strength
In the broken pieces of my heart, in the lessons I've learned at length
Perhaps it was me, who rose from the ashes cold
To find my voice, to tell my story, to unfold.

You've said it before,
you don't like what you see
in the reflection of my eyes.
Maybe if I'd gauged them out,
you wouldn't be afraid to look inside.

When I looked into your eyes,
I didn't see myself,
I saw flowers.
And then you looked into mine
and saw only flaws.

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

You never cared,
never tried,
you left me drowning
every time I cried.
Maybe, my tears
were all you could get,
the only way for you
to make me wet.

I wanted you to take me out on a date,
but you said you're too busy,
romanticizing your sadness.
I guess you need that sorrow
to write your music,
just like I needed my heart broken
by you
to write my poetry.

You say you've moved on,
but she has my face,
my hair,
and my snorty laughter.

When I first saw her,
just for a moment,
I thought that she was my long lost twin
and that you found her
just to bring her back to me.

I slip through strangers,
to reach the front row.
On my tiptoes,
I strain to see you,
to catch a glimpse.
I raise my hand,
hoping you'll see me.
"I'm here," I call.
But you don't care,
and I am lost in the crowd.

Your mistreatment taught me
how I deserve to be treated -
at least better
than you ever did.

I should have
punched you
the first time I saw you.
A broken hand
would have been better
than a broken heart.