It was my first, probably not my last
But I gave him my heart, falling so damn fast
He was no good, but in my eyes he was a king - and I his princess.
From the moment we spoke,
I understood that he was bad, he was no good.
My face shined when I heard from him,
Lighting up like the candles on my birthday cake -
the birthdays he always forgot about.
Patience being something I acquired by his side,
always waiting and waiting,
watching time pass me by.
When he called I always answered,
not knowing the selfish and careless motives behind his calls.
When he handed me the words "I love you" he waited to hear them from my paling lips that held sadness.
I let them fall onto my lap and watched as it sat there,
Heavy, like a burden.
Time passed quick and anger began to age within,
like a plant receiving its fair share of sun, water, and love.
Anger came like a kid on a swing - every push I gave, it came back.
I had forgot how it had felt to form my 5
lips, as smooth and tender ... as rose-leaves in a coppice wild into saying it.
To hold the word so close to the sacred temple I claimed as my body.
Hate took over what little love I had left for him.
I only knew anger, though my eyes only showed sadness.
Pouring out of the eyes I'd inherited from his lover.
I stopped loving.
I stopped caring.
I stopped crying.
I stopped answering his calls.
My first heartbreak.
It wasn't a lover,
It wasn't a friend,
It was my father.