Writings in my Soul

last.

nights like tonight begin like any other.
a man gets horny at 8,
texts me by 8:02,
I catch feelings for a guy who clearly has no interest in me only my body by 11,
and i am left feeling like a whore by 12.
by no means would i call myself a whore,
or a slut,
because honestly i get attached to these guys who promise me a world full of hope.
yet hope isn't real,
for my case.
im the third choice.
I'm not quite second,
she's louder than me.
I'm not first,
she hasn't met this man yet.
I'm the girl who believed lies,
whether than admit the cries
my goodbyes have been covered,
covered by messages,
words from nasty men.
I'm the third choice.
I'm the last.