Surviving Heartbreak

Wifey Material

In this generation,
no one wants to know you.
Not really.
Not your favorite color,
not how you take your coffee,
not the way your voice breaks
when you talk about childhood,
or how the world made you
soft in places you had to be strong.

No one asks why you are
the way that you are.
They don't care
about the storms you've survived,
or the stories behind your smile.
They don't want to know
what cracked you open
and let the light in,
what quiet battles you fought
just to be here.

But you did.
God, you did.
You looked at me like
knowing me was worth the time.
You asked.
You listened.
You knew me.

And I ruined it.
I lost the one person
who made me feel seen.
The one who stayed
long enough to care.
And now there's no going back.

I try—
but no one looks at me the way you did.
No one sees me.
They send "wyd" texts at 2am,
ask nothing,
take everything.
Bodies with no hearts.
Conversations that never go deeper
than my skin.

I'm tired.
Tired of being "wifey material,"
of being "fuckable"
but never "worth it."
Never "the one."
Never the reason someone stays.

And maybe that's why
I still cling to your name—
because after you,
no one chose me like that.
No one stayed.

I want to be wanted
the way you once wanted me—
fully,
gently,
like I was something worth holding on to.

And maybe that's selfish.
But mostly,
I'm just sorry
I didn't realize what I had
when I had it.

—MistakenGenius