Never did I try to change you.
I suppose some part of me knew
that your love was a half-assed
poem shoved in the back pocket
of the pants you purchased when
you were still trying to impress me.
Forcing me into poems so
microscopic, hoping you could find
something in between the seventeen
thousand four hundred and twenty
seven seconds you spent staring
at me, of everything you ever
wanted me to be that I never was.
In the end I just got tired of being