I’m used to being dropped,
When someone new comes along.
Didn’t think you were that type,
But I guess that I was wrong.
The waiting got longer and longer,
The texts got shorter and shorter.
I was stupid to think you wouldn’t leave,
And move on to somebody else’s daughter.
I can see she’s prettier than I’ll ever be,
More intelligent, more open as well.
I guess I really am a beast,
But of a ball, she’ll be your belle.
Love, loss, teen, teenager