Hurts

It hurts me to know you’re not doing well.

I am not doing well at all.

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Brooklyn

I really wonder how you’re doing.

Do you still drink coffee at that place on montrose we used to spend our weekends at?

Do you still eat 2 taro brioche buns with a mile long grin to follow?

Do you still take the same subway route?

What time do you catch the L train in the morning?

Do you still wear dark amber and ginger lily on your neck and 2 dabs of blackberry on your wrist?

Do you still have that bracelet I got you from Tokyo?

What about the record we bought together?

Do you still love my mind?

Would you ever love my whole again?

I wonder how you’re doing. I hope you’ve been fine.

Hope to see you again someday. I miss you.

My ex

used to tell me I was fat

every day.

Sorry

for being so

insecure.

The hurt

It’s not how he could hurt you in the first place, it’s how many times you let him.

Too

He said, “see this is why we can’t be together. You’re too emotional.”

“I don’t think I’m too anything.”

You are never too anything. You are more than enough and more perfect than you’ll ever know. It’s him who isn’t quite enough. Trust me.

Because

“Why did you call me?”

“Because I felt like talking to you. Hey can you do me a favor?”

Oh that’s why you called.

Gut

“It’s just a gut feeling.”

“How long have you been having this gut feeling?”

“Since we met.”

The shower is the only place I can cry without anyone hearing.

A million of my tears just washed down the drain.

“Gut feeling.”

Don’t change a thing

You used to tell me you loved everything about me.

Don’t change a thing.

Don’t change a thing about the way you dress.

Don’t change a thing about the way you are.

Now he pokes and prods me.

Telling me to change everything about myself.

You should be skinnier. You’re too this. Too that. Poke. Prod. This is still too much fat.

What will even be left of me?