Walking into a room, I'd spot you straight away.
Now I do the same but instantly look away.

That day, I felt your presence at the end of the hall.
I walked on by but I was amazed to hear a call.

"Wow is that the girl you broke up with over there?"
I grinned, swayed my hips and flipped my hair.

I was pleasantly met with whistles and cheers.
I was proud about how great I looked in front of his peers.

"That ex of yours, she looks pretty, no?"
"Shut up, be quiet, I don't want her to know!"

Right there and then, I knew I ate your heart out.
I looked so well, you couldn't resist checking me out.

You wanted to hurt me, leave me in your past.
But look at me now, who's laughing last.

You see us two talk, I like him a great deal more.
I can feel that you're watching, I can feel that you're sore.

You didn't expect me to look pretty, move on.
It's your loss not mine, you lost, I won.

I ran off with a smile and a stitch.
That day you've learned, that karma is a *****.

A real poet uses their tears for ink.
Their broken lives they use to think.

Create stories of real pain.
The best poets are the most insane.

Stops and thinks about what to write next.
Thinks long, like about an unanswerable text.

Pen with a sharp tip, like a knife blade.
The knife that stabbed their back, memories don't fade.

Pages as smooth as all the lies they've heard.
Imagination as free as a solitary bird.

The feelings bleed out from the open cut.
Poems can leave a sick feeling in your gut.

A simple poem, a single verse.
Could be a blessing, could be a curse.