He was never a coffee house kind of guy. <br />Never understood the attraction I had <br />For overpriced beverages and funky surroundings, <br />So I never expected to see him here, <br />In my domain. <br />He had on the same red sweater he was wearing <br />When I first met him- <br />Funny, how that was my first thought. <br />And when he asked me how I was, <br />I wanted to paint on a big fake smile <br />And say 'Fan-fuckin'-tastic.' <br />But I couldn't even say I was fine, <br />And funny, how I had believed I was fine <br />Up until he asked me. <br />Yeah...I never could lie to him, <br />Even though I was so good at lieing to myself. <br />I wondered if the day would come <br />When I could look him in the eye <br />Without feeling like a fool. <br />Apparently, not yet, maybe not ever. <br />I feel like I've aged a hundred years <br />Since I walked out of his door, <br />And not grown any wiser, just more leery. <br />I wish I could hate him for not loving me, <br />Hate him for politely declining when <br />I handed my heart over to him. <br />Hate him for making me wish I was <br />Good enough to be with him, <br />And hating myself because I wasn't. <br />But, I can't hate him, never could. <br />I know I can't blame him for <br />My own self destruction, as much as I'd like to. <br />But next time I see him, and he asks me <br />How I am, I hope I can say 'fan-fuckin'tastic' <br />And mean it.<br /><br />Sandra Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fan-fuckin-tastic/
