Heartbreak and flowers
I was told to write a poem, for my English class.
I thought about writing a poem about you.
But no one wants to hear about the mole on your stomach and how my finger used to trace it up to your neck where i'd grab you and kiss you.
No one's interested in the fact that you made me want to wake up in the mornings and I don't think anyone cares that its not like that anymore. The fact that you had me up for months on end crying, wondering why I wasn't good enough, isn't worth writing about.
So I'll write a poem about flowers.
Kind of like the flowers you put in my hair that one summers day when we lay on the grass and cuddled up for hours. The type of flowers that you bought me as an 'I love you' gift, for me to find out you'd bought her the exact same kind. The same flowers that were in the background photo of you and her when we split. The flowers you should have bought me to apologize. Flowers, like the ones you may as well have jumped on, spat on and ripped apart before you threw them in my direction. Flowers... Pretty, delicate, cheap. Just like her.
