You Probably Expected Me To Write This


I hate that you make me remember.
Remember all of the things you said you loved about me
And how you woke up one morning to wish it all gone.

How could I be so disposable?
Like a container of take out,
You consumed me and then threw me away.

But I consumed you too.
We’re both guilty here when you really think about it.
You were guilty of unexpectedly leaving,
And I was guilty of believing you would stay.

And even now that I’ve destroyed every piece of evidence
That proves you even exist,
I still think about you.
But when I think about you I’m not happy.
I’m everything else.
Like a chart that explains emotions to a kindergarten classroom
Angry. Sad. Confused.

And this all makes me realize,
It was never me who got in my own way,
It was you who needed to get out of mine.