| I shunned the colour pink for you, was the best friend you had wanted, But it must not have been enough for you. I broke into tears at a moment's notice for you, tried to make you happy every chance I could find. I stood up for you when others pushed you down; I nodded in agreement with you when you spoke badly of those who had betrayed you. I wrote poems, stories, for you, and delighted in the emotion-filled tears of wonder that they made you cry. I even tried to write a melody for you. But it must not have been enough for you, was it? What did I ever ask from you? Certainly not this. And now that I am despised for you? I guess I got sick of monochrome, 'cause I bought another pink tank top. I wear it when I think of you. And now, I am the one who's fallen, but you're the one who pushed me. Now others nod their agreement when you speak of my betrayal, the one I still don't know I committed. And the tears? I guess I still cry them for you, because there they are, evidence against the theory that I don't cry. I suppose I do, but only for you. You professed love for me once. Once, I thought love meant accepting a person for who they were. You hate me for being myself instead of the person you want me to be. This is my last poem for you. I hope this one makes you sob. I know you can always be relied upon to cry for yourself. You never did seem to have enough tears. How about now? I've had enough. |