Thief

Give me my poetry back, it was not your right to like it too. You didn't deserve to have it shared. It belonged to me, to my daydreams and my eternal hope.

I hate you for making me writhe in pain every time I hear 5 songs that used to mean different things to me. Now they remind me of a heartache, heartBREAK that should've never happened. Give them back, they shouldn't be yours songs...you used my own weakness against me. Make them MY songs again.

Wipe this bitter taste from my mouth on days like this. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I will forget. You will be dead to me, and there will come a day I will not wake up feeling like I do today, cringing when I heard MY song traveling out of your lips like it's your own personal melody.

Neruda was mine. Garcia Marquez was mine. Garcia Lorca was mine. Roald Dahl was mine. Raining In Baltimore was mine. Damien Rice was mine. Brandi Carlile was ALWAYS mine. Not a phase. None of those were a phase. It was who I had, who I read and listened to way before you screwed it up. They WILL be mine again. I will have my dreams back, and you will have nothing to do with it. Just the scum under my shoe I must scrape off and leave on some sidewalk.

Give it back.