You told me I was beautiful,
I told you were an idiot;
you said you would never
stop calling me beautiful,
going on about how one day,
you would convince me.
You were sure of it!
You promised.
For a moment,
I let myself believe that you
would never give up on me;
I took your words and
wrapped myself up in them,
shielding away the pain.
But, as a child,
I was told that
nothing lasts forever—
you stopped calling me beautiful,
you stopped telling you loved me;
and now—
you’ve moved on with your life,
while I sit here,
writing very un-poetic poems.
(DS)