It’s been a little over a year since we last spoke.
So much has changed.
Except for you.
You would think by now I’d be over it.
you’d think by now
I would have forgotten how I looked around every five minutes
wondering if you would show up before I said “I do”
youd think I would have forgotten
Your angry words
cutting my heart open so deep that
im surprised I didn’t bleed all over my pretty white dress.
But I haven’t.
And it’s really not fair.
Because every night for a little over a year
i forget
im not supposed to be lonely anymore.
but old habits die hard i guess.
And it’s not fair that a man who had nothing to do with it
is stuck cleaning up your mess.
Hes stuck cleaning the tears off of my pillow
and holding my body until my sobbing lulls me to sleep.
He tells me that’s what love is.
He says he’s going to teach me how to love myself.
Something you should have done so he wouldn’t have to.
And honestly, I don’t know why I’m writing this to you.
You’d think after a year
I’d stop with the
“sad poems about my terrible father.
He’s so horrible,
he ruined my life,
blah blah blah”
But you made sure to hurt me enough that
I could write about you for years.
But anyways it’s been a little over a year
and I no longer know how to write poems.
Instead I just build up emotions until it spills
out into a terribly written letter.
I can thank you for that too.