Written Slam Poetry

Irrelevant

Everyday, you cross my mind

and I find it hard to deviate from that train of thought.

I spend so much time thinking about you that

I find myself noting other people's definitions of love.

What is love to me?

Keeping the promise anyways?

Using your first name in the poems that I write?

Undefinable?

Irrelevant.

Why do we have to still feel love for people who left us?

Why don't we have a CHOICE in the matter?

What is the POINT in loving someone that found you so insignificant that they left you for someone

better suited to their desires,

after they made you so attached to them?

You have no right to  make my life feel like a sad handwritten book of memories.

I don't want to be reminded of you every time I look

at even my favorite things.

I can't even make little paper birds without being reminded of your stupid, lovely face.

Most of me wants to forget you.

All of you.

But that train of thought always takes me to a city in my head that's just full of the little things you did that made me smile.

But at the end of the tracks,

You left.

So what does that make my love for you?

Irrelevant.