If you ever get the urge to look me up,
to hook up,
to check up,
on what I’m up to,
I’ve spent so long,
trying to stand up,
to grow up to be the person I knew I had the power to be,
before I met you.
You’re not the worst person I’ve ever met,
I don’t even regret not telling you to fuck off,
when you asked me for my number.
I look fondly,
on my time as your sexy midnight stranger,
but those times are small and insignificant,
and I avoid them,
so I don’t emulate them,
in my usual impressionable way.
through tired eyes,
to see myself as someone who was never cursed,
or corrupted by you,
because I’m tired of feeling like a fool,
for falling into the exact traps,
I was so sure I was too smart for,
and it’s easier to wear the image of a survivor,
if you aren’t lurking in the lobby of my heartbreak hotel,
waiting to check me out,
and fuck me up all over again.
both you and I,
that you won’t listen,
if you ever loved me,
or even liked me just a little,