Because I was too nice
I’m easy to talk to (and take advantage of).
But I’ve realized how valuable my time is
As of late
And I confessed feeling used
Even after you confessed your love
You never even asked if I were seeing anybody
Too caught up in the moment
Of seeing me as you needed to see me
Not as I am.
Feeling used isn’t a new one for me
But being honest about it
And severing ties
I wished you luck on your endeavors
Lamenting the hours I spent helping you
Using my creative energy for your projects
For which I’ll never get credit
Maybe because I saw a lifelong friend
A kindred soul
But that was dashed when I realized you were more interested in monologueing.
You wanted admiration
Dismissing my friendship as valuable if there were no possibility of anything more.
I’m so. Fucking. Sick. Of. That.
Not vibrant beings with their own fucking subjective experience and equal if not superior (emotional) intelligence
It was laughable when you said you loved me
Knowing nothing about me
I should have gotten paid for the growth I inspired for you
And the time you wasted.
No, that wreaks of bitterness, my time wasn’t completely wasted.
I stood up for myself like I couldn’t have before.
I’ll know I’ve forgiven you when I finally open the W.B. Yates book of poems you gifted me.
If that time ever comes.
It made it across the Atlantic to me
Your personal copy, complete with note on the sleeve.
Probably the only authentic exchange we have ever had
And now it’s left one sided
But the one piece you paid attention to is my love for the sea
I can’t fault you for that.
But I also can’t commend you on noticing …