You always called everything about me pretty.

If my lips are pretty why'd you ever taste the pair of another as if you were sampling flavors?

Did you get tired of the same old flavor?

Was my pretty waist not enough for you to hold?

I mean why else would you bother wrapping your arms around another?

My pretty hands free for you to hold and you go and hold some other? 

Was my pretty heart just a temporary stay?

Did you take me all the way just to break away?

The backseat of my truck was our favorite place to paint the pretty pictures that both of us made.

That backseat is now the pretty place where i sit and think of what could've been.

Well, I am pretty.

Pretty angry at the fact that you couldnt stay committed.

Angry at myself of the fact that you at least admitted.

And i guess im feeling pretty damn stupid that my lips arent the ones you're thinking about when we're kissing.

But ima show you what you'll be missing.

You're such a pretty liar.

How you always called everything about me pretty.





This poem is about: 



you are really good !

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