In address to everyone who ever called me names without checking their facts, and every guy who did me wrong, you're shallow. Shallow like a kiddie pool. Every relationship I’ve been in has followed the same basic pattern, like someone wrote a book on how to break my heart and issued it to every guy I ever had a chance with.
We’re moderately happy until you cheat. Sometimes more than once, sometimes with my best friend, just for the added irony. Then, you wait a few months to let the sting really set in. And then, like a bee that just lost its stinger, you start dying. Laying on the concrete writhing around because you know you lost your edge. How could you possibly recover from that? Well, you always find a way. You hord sympathy and praise that you squeezed from people like the last drop of juice from a lemon.
Next, you seek a kickstart. Something to fuel your next thrill or kill. And what’s better for your ego than destroying mine? Passing notes right beneath my nose, whispering lies that you conjured up from that dark dank cave you call your mind. Next thing I know, people start looking at me like I murdered a butterfly.
At this point, I’m alone because my friends succame to the same words that everyone else did. Maybe now that I was weak and isolated, you could wriggle your way back into my heart like a worm into an apple. But even in that state, you didn’t deserve me.
Now you're a spider. Hiding in your web in the corner with all the other girls you sucked dry and left for dead, watching my every move. Occasionally, you appear in front of my face suspended by a thread of lies extending from your posterior.
Then you realize you catch more flies with honey. You tell me I’m beautiful, I know. Your sorry, just a sorry soul. You love me? No more than a child loves a toy. And of course you have to ask, do I love you? No more than the gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
But you always win, don't you? ‘Move on’ with some girl who looks a bit like me when your eyes are blurry with tears. I see you in school, touching her hand like it was roadkill you had to peel up from the street. I hate it when you look at me in the hallway like my dog just died, like I need your pity. It’s almost cute how you think i’m hurt because there’s no place filler on my arm. And I just love to make you mad by smiling and twiddling my fingers at her when I pass her in the hall.
Go ahead, tell me you’ve moved on. Oh, and my favorite part is when you tell me you’re a man now. Like I’m supposed to believe that when you still cross your arms and pout when you don't get your way. “I've changed.”, you say trying to win me back in front of your girlfriend.
Still, I must admit, I may have gotten some good old fashioned poetic revenge, but it bothers me that people still look at you like Tatum and swoon at your glance.
So here I am now. This is the dream where you show up to school naked. I won’t waste my time telling you how rotten you are, because you know. You know you hurt me, you know you don't deserve me, and you know that ‘what we had’ was faker than your smile. What I will do is tell as many people as possible who you truly are. A little boy burning ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them die, and looking in the window of the candy shop drooling over what you know you can’t have.