i'll tell you
that i've matured
that i'm beautiful, and confident, and annoyed.
i'll tell you
how i'm cool and not caring that i'm not
what you wished me to be.
i'll tell you i cut my hair
and my nose
and my integrity.
i'll tell you i'm my friends' friend
and that we got out all night
to do all those things
that used to make me wish
i was you.
i'll tell you i'm busy
and unlost and uncaring
i'll tell you i have everything
we both desired
and no need of sharing it
with you.
i'll tell you how i'm different
and out of love
and with no intention
of being loved again,
and i'll say that i wear short skirts
and strip when asked to
and that i'm above everything we thought was right
and i'll tell you i've been living
a life of my own
and that i've filled it
with things all my own,
that i'm not lonley
even in the night or when it rains
and that Sundays are a necessary evil
and that I haven't thought about the past
other than to learn from my mistakes
and that i'm ok with being less
that i'm ok with being wrong.
i'll tell you, love,
that i've moved on.
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