You always looked at me as if you were better.
Maybe it is because drugs were never your forte and
through me they flowed so easily.

but I do recall a boy who craved

to be a part of my
scene, but he didn't belong what

with his Nike socks and his

Polo shirts.

That couldn't be it,
because you wanted
every other girl there
over me and nearly f***ed my
best friend in the bed that
held me the day before.
I was never good enough for you.
I didn't work out and
especially didn't work out in
matching gear from all of your
expensive favorites.
I preferred botched up jeans and
a flannel that didn't quite match
my beanie or
my vans.
You always looked at me as if you were better.
Hell, you'd rarely even
hold my hand in
your car let alone in
public, did you worry about
how it looked to be seen with
someone like me? Someone who
you'd give that same disgusted look

every single day?

You'd look at me with complete

self-glorification and absolute
lack of empathy, no love
left for the girl who would
slit her own goddamned throat
if you truly desired it.
You always looked at me as if you were better.

F***, maybe you are.