I sit here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
I mean it seriously, am I really a terrible person?
I can only imagine that answer is yes.
What kind of pathetic woman am I?
I get left by men for taller, skinnier people.
Every. Damn. Time.
What the hell am I supposed to think of that?
It is too coincidental to happen again.
The problem is me. It is always me.
The constant factor.
The known variable.
Excuse me while I hide in my corner and pretend to not be alive anymore.
You told me you loved me.
You told me you cared.
But I am still here alone
and I see you smiling with her.