I dedicate these masterpieces to someone

who is uninterested in reading them.

I was a fool;

 I was stupid;

 I was dumb and so pathetic.

How patiently I carved on a paper

those metaphors, rhymes and lovely phrases;

 tried spotting for some mistakes

 that led to countless nights that I was sleepless;

 even had my mom disturbed

just to make me a cup of coffee

while I write on our terrace;

I also used to sit alone

 and contemplate by the furnace;

sincerely poured my heart

and soul on every masterpiece;

however, I only dedicated them to some jerks

who later on said they were all useless,

every single line of ’em was delicate

but little did I know,

they were left unread

and I knew right there and then

 that I was rejected.

I was so full of myself

 got me wasting hundreds of pages

can’t believe I begged for love and attention—

jeez, I’m so foolish

 I let my guard down,

 allowed myself to get hurt

oh, I remembered—

I loved someone more than I loved myself

but all along, I was wrong

because I was just infatuated.

the differences between love and infatuation,

 that I can’t even decipher

yet, how dare I weave masterpieces

with confessions of how I feel? Pathetic.

Yesterday, I ripped everything that I sew—

 burned all the scratches because I wanted to start anew

 I wasted my teenage years—

devoted myself to someone

who made me shed thousands of tears

 I was hopeless and restless.

But you know what?

 I can’t let that happen again

everything about me has changed

because of the unbearable pain

no more pathetic confessions,

 no more devotions

’cause regret hovers over me

got me stayin’ up all night ’til three

should’ve dedicated them to me

because it’s me who really deserves.