Does it give you glory to be the muse of my poetry?
But that would put you in a spotlight, that you don’t deserve.
Will it make you seem righteous to others, because if you were that bad,
why would I write about you?
Get over yourself. Don’t get it twisted.
I’m not writing about you, I’m writing about me
and my feelings about your short comings, and about your inefficiencies.
Ok, I’ll give you some glory… you are kinda smart but too dumb
to give me a chance, solely.
You are handsome, but act so ugly.
Why did you only call me at night after work when your woman was asleep?
There was no mention of her during that phone call,
but no mention of her doesn’t mean she wasn’t there when you got home,
after being with me,
sleeping with me,
being one with me,
being nasty with me.
Why do I hate you, when I should hate me?
I should hate me for allowing this, but your love was irresistible,
something that I cant describe.
But yet, I shouldn’t describe you, because that gives you credit,
and you don’t deserve credit and neither do I for believing in you,
when I knew it wasn’t right.
I knew I couldn’t change you,
didn’t want to,
Instead I tried to weather the storm,
tried to make you believe in me,
so that you would want to be with me.
It was me that wasn’t right,
I should have listened to my heart.
I should have listened to others that have never lied.
But instead, I gave you the benefit of doubt,
the benefit of my doubt.
I kept on keeping-on in this mess,
creating this mess,
living this mess,
hating this mess,
waiting for you to clean up this mess.
But I realize you aren’t going to clean up this mess,
you aren’t going to make this better,
or love me,
Because this mess never mattered,