I'm the best friend.
Let's go ahead and skip the part where you pretend
that nothing ever happened.
Trust me, I know.
You broke her,
so I'm just trying to understand.
She carved out her heart,
placed the beating organ in your hand,
and you just drop it.
I've come to realize it's not that she wasn't enough.
Obviously, she was more than you could hold.
I guess you couldn't handle the weight of gold.
Her heart has all this love to give.
It will pour like rain in a hurricane,
so if you keep using your umbrella,
she'll find another place to be a perfect storm.
And for the players,
when you were younger,
you used to play with trucks and race cars,
but now you're a teenager,
and you like playing with hearts.
She is one of many that died just trying to love you.
She grew roses in her chest,
but you thought it'd be fun to play life or death;
you were always the latter.
And as for the boys that held her too tight:
you gave her a place to call home,
but locked the door.
Your arms; the chains bound to her body.
Your overprotection painted with jealousy.
She couldn't breathe anymore.
Love cannot grow in tight grips and loose wrists.
As young women,
we search for self confidence in the
mouths of teenage boys,
but the only person that can truly
make us feel loved is ourselves.