You Don’t Deserve the Happy Buddha

Please explain what I did. I’m begging you. What did I do to make you change your mind? Please tell me. I was so happy. You made me so happy. I felt so comfortable around you. I could be myself. You made me feel so beautiful. What happened? Was it me? Did you meet someone new? What made her better than me? Was she prettier? Thinner? Did she have a better smile? Was she less shy? I bet she is magic with people. Did she speak more poetically? Did she use larger words? Does she smoke more weed? I wanted to get to know you more. Why didn’t you let me in? Couldn’t you see I would have tried? Why didn’t I deserve a goodbye?

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I hope you realize what you lost. I hope you see what I was worth. I hope you wake up a week from now and miss me. I hope you miss me miss me miss me. I want you to regret what you did. I want it to haunt you. I want you to feel this pain I feel. I want you to hurt.

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When I’m more than what you could’ve ever imagined, I hope you taste my tears.

I’m More Like a Force

No one hated it  when I would announce “I need a cigarette,” more than you.

You hated the way they made me smell. You hated how I would smoke three in a row when I was sad. You hated that something influenced me more than you.

You once said to me, “if I could quit, so can you.” And I tried; I always tried for you. I wanted you to be proud of me.

But now that you’re gone, I love them more. It is as if each cigarette is a “fuck you” to all the times I tried to mold myself into something for your approval. For anyone’s approval.

It turns out I am not made of clay, and I will never be what anyone wants me to be.