Today she told me that most people are
not poets, just good note-takers
Well, here is a note for you:
There was an edge to the way we loved each other,
the sharp l dug into my ribs. But now
you are the smooth curve of f in forgiveness.
You are the plump belly in the g of goodbye.
You’re the post-it that wouldn’t stick
And I’m the fountain pen you never use
And together we make one shitty rhyme.
I’m sorry I’ll never write you the perfect lovepoem
I’m sorry you memorised me only to get stagefright
I’m sorry I’m not dignified enough not to hate your damn guts