So lately, I've been writing more and more things about my ex. I never did deal with that break up thoroughly. But I won't go into details. I suppose these poems are my way of officially getting over whatsherface. Okay, let's just get to it.
Heartaches&Heartbreaks.
I have issues.
A lot of them.
I’m an asshole.
Plain and simple.
But that’s not my fault.
It’s an unresolved issue that made me this way.
This unresolved issue I’m talking about… is an ex.
Ever since she CHEATED on me, I think I broke.
And it’s no joke, I look at relationships bitterly.
Always thinking, how could this possibly benefit me?
I don’t look at every girl like an object.
But I see them as the farthest thing from perfect.
Another species, brought by aliens from another planet on their flying ships.
My insecurities towards these beings spawn from a previous relationship.
It was good at the start.
Thought it was real, that Cupid hit the mark.
But months later, things changed drastically.
I didn’t get texts back, or phone calls.
Not a single good morning, goodnight, sweet dreams, nothing at all.
When ever I’d call, she’d say someone’s on the other line.
Can’t talk tonight, too tired because she was up all night.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Clingy.
I’ve tried resolving this issue.
Placed together words that turned into sentences.
Sentences turned into paragraphs.
Paragraphs into letters.
Letters into essays.
And essays into an entire novel, of emotions, in it’s rawest form.
The first piece I wrote after me and her were through, is filled with chicken scratch and sentences I can barely understand.
All I can make out of it is bitch, slut, whore.
And another piece only says how I wish we could’ve been more.
But in all of them, I asked myself the same question, what were those seven months for?
I want to think that I learned something more than how much she hates being flattered.
Something more than, in her mind, family is the only thing that mattered.
A little bit more than her birthday’s on the twenty-seventh day of june.
A lot more than knowing that she buries herself in anime when her family’s not in tune.
Or like how she and her mom are like best friends, she knew what we did when we were home alone.
Or how her exboyfriend took advatange of her, and she still has his number on her phone.
I want to think that I learned more than her favourite songs are ones to deal with Cupid.
But she hates the words forever, never and always, because she think infinity is stupid.
I want to think that I learned something, more than how fragile you are when your heart breaks.
And when a heart aches, it’s evidence that what you felt was not fake.
So the issue at hand is after the hell she put me through,
After I did all that I could possibly do,
Only proves that love’s existance is not true.
Because all that I love you that came out of her mouth,
Really meant we could never work out.
It really meant that she’ll always leave when someone better comes along.
Because she felt that staying with one guy forever was too long.
So the issue at hand is, why have we not changed the definition of L-O-V-E.
Because when we’re looking for love, we’re really sayin’ F-U-C-K me.
Because we could substitute the word love for lust.
Because we think in every relationship, sex is a must.
Because I’ve started to feel that love isn’t worth my time anymore.
And I'm starting to think, that’s what those seven months were for.
Heartaches&Heartbreaks.
I have issues.
A lot of them.
I’m an asshole.
Plain and simple.
But that’s not my fault.
It’s an unresolved issue that made me this way.
This unresolved issue I’m talking about… is an ex.
Ever since she CHEATED on me, I think I broke.
And it’s no joke, I look at relationships bitterly.
Always thinking, how could this possibly benefit me?
I don’t look at every girl like an object.
But I see them as the farthest thing from perfect.
Another species, brought by aliens from another planet on their flying ships.
My insecurities towards these beings spawn from a previous relationship.
It was good at the start.
Thought it was real, that Cupid hit the mark.
But months later, things changed drastically.
I didn’t get texts back, or phone calls.
Not a single good morning, goodnight, sweet dreams, nothing at all.
When ever I’d call, she’d say someone’s on the other line.
Can’t talk tonight, too tired because she was up all night.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Clingy.
I’ve tried resolving this issue.
Placed together words that turned into sentences.
Sentences turned into paragraphs.
Paragraphs into letters.
Letters into essays.
And essays into an entire novel, of emotions, in it’s rawest form.
The first piece I wrote after me and her were through, is filled with chicken scratch and sentences I can barely understand.
All I can make out of it is bitch, slut, whore.
And another piece only says how I wish we could’ve been more.
But in all of them, I asked myself the same question, what were those seven months for?
I want to think that I learned something more than how much she hates being flattered.
Something more than, in her mind, family is the only thing that mattered.
A little bit more than her birthday’s on the twenty-seventh day of june.
A lot more than knowing that she buries herself in anime when her family’s not in tune.
Or like how she and her mom are like best friends, she knew what we did when we were home alone.
Or how her exboyfriend took advatange of her, and she still has his number on her phone.
I want to think that I learned more than her favourite songs are ones to deal with Cupid.
But she hates the words forever, never and always, because she think infinity is stupid.
I want to think that I learned something, more than how fragile you are when your heart breaks.
And when a heart aches, it’s evidence that what you felt was not fake.
So the issue at hand is after the hell she put me through,
After I did all that I could possibly do,
Only proves that love’s existance is not true.
Because all that I love you that came out of her mouth,
Really meant we could never work out.
It really meant that she’ll always leave when someone better comes along.
Because she felt that staying with one guy forever was too long.
So the issue at hand is, why have we not changed the definition of L-O-V-E.
Because when we’re looking for love, we’re really sayin’ F-U-C-K me.
Because we could substitute the word love for lust.
Because we think in every relationship, sex is a must.
Because I’ve started to feel that love isn’t worth my time anymore.
And I'm starting to think, that’s what those seven months were for.
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