A poem for the girl who broke my heart, written then, aged 16
And I hate her for not talking to me,
And I hate her for making out like everything is all right
And for making up, waking up and hating me again.
And for seeming to take the recognition for all that I’m responsible for,
Not even trying, yet gaining everything I’ve longed for
And for paying attention and doing what’s right, so I can’t,
‘cos I’ve got to change and oppose her in everything;
So that someone who doesn’t know us will see that there is no us,
Not even that. Two people not presently related.
I hate her because I don’t know her,
And she doesn’t want me,
And she doesn’t say hello.
She doesn’t even look.
I hate her, ‘cos she wears the right thing,
Says the right thing, does the right thing,
At the right time, all the time.
Or so it seems
And I hate her for leaving scars on my life,
Reminders of the love I’ve had and the fun I’ve had
And everywhere I look or run to, I find her.
I hate her for not saying anything, yet being their even when I sleep.