It's weird to be chased.
Not in the playful childlike way.
More in the hunter stalking its prey kinda way.
No one knew my story.
All they knew was I was unattainable.
You found that to be a challenge worth taking.
Everyone knew your story.
The rumors, the parties, and the girls.
If you had worn a name tag, I would've walked away.
Two or three minutes of talking.
All because of a case of mistaken identity.
One conversation became two years of chasing.
At first, it was entertaining.
Then, I grew tired of your constant flirty quips.
Two years, and still you were determined to win me over.
The ego boost was nice.
At least, until I felt like a butcher shop's menu.
I wanted to be more than some guy's favorite hindquarter.
It's weird to be chased.
Everyone wants to be the hunter.
Nobody wants to be someone else's prey.
YOU ARE READING
What I Once Called Love: The Drafts
PoetryThis is my story, or rather a compilation of stories that spans more than a decade. Each piece is written from a place of truth with the exception of the names mentioned. The book itself will broken into sections, with each representing a different...
