My life was a book I had left on the shelf

A story I always said I would read

Collecting dust and coffee stains

Although I don’t even like coffee


But then I met you.

And for the first time,

I wanted to be read.

I wanted my pages to be strewn open

Each finger caressing my seams

Turning me through time


But you never did

You walked by every time

Only taking what you needed

Using my pages as kindling

For your next flame


And I hate how it took you ignoring me

For me to finally stop ignoring myself

But I’m not ignoring him anymore

I am writing and rewriting each page

Each mouthwatering word

To try and remember who the book is really about.


But I would burn every page

I would rip the binding from the sides

And tear the pages to shreds

Before I ever let you edit my work

Or critique my paragraphs

Or write your way back into my life


I wrote my name out of your biographies

And no words will ever replace me

No words will ever replace the taste of my name on your lips and all the memories we could’ve made.


But I suppose it’s only fair that I took nothing when I left you,

Since that’s all I ever was to you

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