How do I stop liking you?
How do I stop talking to you?
How do I stop caring about you?
How do I stop longing for you?
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll learn how to dance on my own.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll forget about your face and voice.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll just remember those days when I was happy with you.
Maybe, just maybe...
I'll learn to let you go.

i didn't realize you didn't care.
i tried so hard
to be there for you,
but you blew me off
like birthday candles.
my favorite smell;
next to pine trees,
on a cold december morning,
where i find myself missing you,
again.
it just turns out,
that all the pretty words you said to me
were lies
and thats alright
because
ill just find myself lying in someone else's bed tonight.

wondering
do you ever wonder why,
as i drive by,
how i throw my cigarette out the window?
so violently..
it's because i dont want it..
to fly back in.
sometimes i think,
you're just like that cigarette.
you fly back in..
unbeknownst to me
and burn my carpet.
leaving another mark,
so subtle.
yet another reminder,
of my black lungs
and black heart.
no thanks,
to you.

he swipes the cigarette ashes on his shirt to the right.
he swipes the coffee stain on the table to the right.
he swipes my damp lips from kissing him to the right.
he swipes his hair to the right.
he swipes my blushing cheek to the right.
he swipes my bra straps to the right.
swipe right.
swipe right.
swipe right.
swipe right.

and i swipe my falling tears to the right.

but our love wasn't right.
that i had to find you again as the choices offered.

i still have those pains from the moment that you swipe your invisible knife on my heart
to the right
to the left.
i thought you were right, but you left.

It’s that time again.
It’s 2am again.
It’s time to look to the right side of my bed and feel sad.
It’s time to wonder why it’s still empty.
It’s time for me to make a list of why it is empty.
It’s time for me to be ******* myself.
It’s time for me to wonder where I went wrong.
It’s time for me to make a list of all my mistakes.
It’s time to feel sorry for myself.
It’s time for me to break my own heart.
Again.
It’s time for me to play over what men have said to me in the past.
It’s time for my old tinder messages to haunt me.
“Unless I can eat that *** and ***** from the back before marriage Christian girls aren’t as fun.”
“Would you be interested in a nice thick 8 inch ****?”
“I’m looking for a more physically intimate relationship.”
It’s time for me to remind myself the reason why my bed is empty.
Men want the one thing that I can’t give them,
And without my body I am nothing to them.
All I am is what’s between my legs and what’s under my shirt.
And with my legs crossed and my top on,
what could I possibly offer them?
It’s time for me remember that while my choice maybe the right choice,
It’s also the lonely choice.
It’s time for me to remember that even though it feels like it’s my fault,
It’s not.
It’s time for me to daydream until I fall asleep.
Again.