Tell me
Tell me that you love her. That you dream about her. And you think about her all day. Tell me that I mean nothing to you. Tell me that when you look at me, when you think about me, you feel nothing. Tell me that I’m wrong. That I didn’t catch your glance when I was drunk and took my clothes off. Tell me that you lied that night when you told me I was attractive and how you loved how you never know what I’m gonna say next. Cause I sure as hell with I lied to you. But you kept asking. Kept asking like you cared, unlike anyone has ever cared. You asked, an I didn’t deny it. I wish it told you no. I wish I called you a narcissist. But I didn’t. And now I have to live with that. Tell me that she means everything and I mean nothing. Because I want to forget about you. I don’t ever want to think, “what if?” or, “maybe...” because that’s fucked up. And I may be fucked up, but I sure as hell am still a good person. And lately I haven’t felt like I am. And I don’t deserve this. I’m not anybody’s “maybe if we break up” or “If things don’t work out, I’d totally go for you.” I’m in nobody’s back pocket. I’m not anyone’s “just in case.” Because I’m smart. And I’m funny. Because when I laugh it’s real and you know it. Because I’m curvy and I like that. I say what’s on my mind and I act how I feel. And I’m not afraid of what anybody thinks. I’m not afraid to challenge people. I am myself and that may be all I ever have. But I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from your lips and see it on your face. I want you to set me free. So I can be free to be the beautiful person I am and never think again, “maybe he felt it too.”
MARCH 18, 2016












