unfinished

the pencil in my hand rolls across my scars

from when I smashed the window in a rage

two weeks ago, we’d laid beneath the bright stars;

he said he’d love me until our old age.

I watch him whisper the same empty promise

to another girl who believes in true love,

who sees this careless man as truly flawless,

who, just like me, he’ll soon become bored of.

he points to the places he wants to show her.

I know this story because it was my own.

she giggles and puts her head on his shoulder,

mistaking his one-star hotel for a home.

I decided to give up on changing myself into the girl i tried to be

as I started to rip the unfinished portrait of the boy who had lied to me.