That Girl

You said I was “that girl”
at the bar,
the one hiding inside,
on her phone,
not caring if anyone spoke to her,
all alone,
drinking and listening
to whatever came on
on the speakers above,
not looking for anyone,
no expectation
of love.

“Why would you bother going out?”
(you asked me, without really asking)
and I was annoyed that a stranger
would be so bold,
I liked being alone but surrounded,
I liked not having
to be told.

I should have known then I should’ve
shut you out,
you had no respect
for the fence I’d raised,
you’d rip holes in it roughly,
to climb through,
as soon as you could.

You’re no good, you’re no good,
this I think I
must have known,
yet I so often fall for
the shallowly brave,
and later I’d cry that I
gave and I gave and I gave and I gave,
and you’d say I was “that girl”
who could never
give enough for you to take,
who was not easy to break,
who was too solitary, too bold,
someone you’d never own,
only hold.

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