Those words have been abused
Mistreated
                                            Overused
I'm so sick of wondering
If I
      Am
             Just
                    Like
                            Them

These words don't have any significance,
I see your eyes light up
as I say this once more.
But the taste is too familiar.
These words are razor blades
cutting into my throat.

I wrote a poem about you.

I hate to see you smile when I say this
because honestly,
I am the Taylor Swift of poets.
I have written poems about you
and five "yous" before yourself.

I know it is hard to believe
but I mean every word scribbled on this
ink filled,
tear stained,
coffee marked
napkin,
that I wrote on our first date.

and I mean every word neatly printed on that
water damaged,
slightly wrinkled,
late in arrival,
card,
The I wrote on her 16th birthday.

I mean every word I have
scribbled,
printed,
typed,
into neat little lines
for you
and her
and him
and her
and you
and him
and her
and you were not the first.

The heart is the heaviest of all the organs.
It carries your burdens, your worries, your sorrows.
When you speak from it, this weight is packed into every word, yet none of it is lifted from your heart.
Sometimes I wish I could think through my brain instead of my heart.
But then I ask myself: Which one hurts more when it's betrayed?
You need a brain to be alive, but you need a heart to live.