For The Heartbreak Kid


The hardest thing to write about is someone who did not mean to hurt you. While I’m taking tiny sips of my coffee, subtly listening to strangers conversations and getting a pop song out of my head I picture him. Maybe the song isn’t supposed to sound angry; maybe it’s a happy tune. I know I wasn’t happy seeing him kiss some other girl or flirt with different girls but I did love his attention.

Am I confusing his attention for affection? Am I still drunk when I’m technically sober?

Every sentence in my head sounds like a potential verse. And my coffee is getting cold and for once I don’t’ have ink stains on my hand. I see no progress in these lyrics instead I’m stuck in my head.

I’m usually good with words but I don’t see words helping me at the moment, they are my enemy in this situation. I know what I want to say, I know who this is dedicated for yet why am I having writers block?

I’m staring at crossed out lines that were verses rhyming like a children’s song. They are all rejections… like me.

Okay I cannot avoid being a little depressed; it’s been two weeks since that kiss that was supposedly meant for me. What should’ve been my moment was given to someone else, how did I miss that? How can I not put these emotions into good use?

I’ve written songs in worse emotional states. After a bitter break up I wrote around 5 songs in one day just to get the anger out of my system. When I was hit with a wave of unknown depression I put into melancholic lyrics. My emotions are my poetry. How is this situation any different?

I just need to concentrate… It always works I sit back watch my coffee go cold and then bam! A song has been written.

Boy… break my heart.

No. It was sewn shut by your… Okay that sounds wrong.

This is frustrating. If this was my room I’d ball up this piece of crap and thrown it at my door. But no I have to be poised with this; I turned to the next blank page and took a nice big gulp of my coffee. A little too much of a gulp that I almost choked. I want to choke out words in literary sense not literal sense.

The blank page is taunting me, the way his name did. This anger should be great inspiration; this should be great reason to write lyrics. Yet the only words that come into mind are inappropriate for anyone else to hear.

I must look crazy right now, a weird girl with her journal making facial expressions as she talks to herself in her mind. Well they should try writing this song or what is supposed to be a song.

You left me in pieces, withered with your roses.

That sounded too depressing as if I’m trying to be the alternative modern version of Edgar Allan Poe. I might as well buy a black turtleneck and fake glasses to this new dark poetic side. Because it seems I prefer to squeeze out dark climatic clichés than lyrics from my heart. Okay that itself sounded cliché but my heart is saying I’m confused with what I feel.

Should I be sad? Should I be mad? I feel mad and sad, I am frustrated but not at him more at myself. For two reasons: One being I cannot get the lyrics right and second for falling for another guy who wants to make me an option.

I am always the option, never the choice. I’ve written a dozen songs about that feeling so this should be easy. I’ve been the main attraction of assholes everywhere and I’m the idiot knowing not to fall for it but I do anyway. So this isn’t new, what he did to me is just repetition.

Practice is overrated because I’m just going through the same mistakes.

Maybe that’s why I can’t write the song. I know this emotion too well, I’ve written about it and I met the same guy with a different face. This song is supposed to be this certain guy when in fact I’ve met so many like him before that my head is telling me this is a scrapped out muse.

This song isn’t just for him; this song is for every asshole I’ve fallen for.

It took a while for me to see

His eyes are looking through me

I’m part of the audition

Trying to figure out if it’s real

Or if he’s practicing his lines

This song is for the Heartbreak Kid.


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    1. Thank you for the comforting advice. I’m not giving up nor am I obsessively looking, just waiting I guess.



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