Ideally.

Insecurities I wear them

an Armour

the war wounds of my past (mistakes) for you to see.

Songs I now can sing loudly and proudly

Music I believed told the lyrics of our waste

There is no red face now.

They are just mine.

And while loving you has always felt a blessing

and,

although,

I have no book of tomorrow

we read

Happily. Ever. After

My smug smile

With my indifferent shrug.

Because then there was You.

Storyteller

Always an habitual liar.

The constant pretender

Your stories shift around my head.

You were always dancing the finest line of fact & fiction.

I get to watch from a virtual far now

a quick toe dip in then out

eyes peaking through slits between fingers

breath held, tense, with anticipation

of What's Next.

I recall shouting once, many times, a then mantra:-

You Deserve To Be On Your Own.

a bad batch of feeling which had then taken hold.

But it was those rare omissions of then truth held me to you.

I gagged for more.

For when I saw you, really saw you,

Without

cloudy judgement.

Oh, pity!

I pitied the fool you are.

For you were just a storyteller who would never know a happy ending.

I'll never be

I have never been the girl the boys are stupid-in-love about
no drunken gestures
nor stories of undying love.

There is no one with my name,
embedded on their arm
I just don't have that lasting-stay-with-you-forever effect.

Each time it spoiled before
I didn't come away unscathed.

Even when I did the leaving.
I nursed a hurting heart.

I'm not the girl you have to try terribly hard to impress
Straight down the line, no games.

So please don't despair
I am not about to break your heart.