On top of my game, I walked away from her
like the great Air Jordan.
Secretly she wears my logo on her chest,
like the Admiral’s polished cordons.
He holds on tight with both hands,
afraid that she might double dribble.
Cause she still sees my X’s & not his O’s
through all the chalkboard scribble.
Waiting for my return, he full-court pressed her,
and she gave in to drunk fatigue.
A drastic pay cut messing with amateurs,
after years of playing in my big league.
On God, I wish her the best in this life
with her 2nd place trophy.
God knows I wanted better for her,
but she ended up with this dopey.
Last time I checked the score,
I won 80 to 60 at who knew her best.
She upgraded to a conference championship ring,
But her hand’s soul weighs much less.
He’s a simple two point-layup,
I’m the three-pointer she wishes she didn’t miss.
You might see her travel down his aisle,
But she’ll dream of me objecting to that 1st kiss.
He thought he could change my channel,
but my highlights are still a part of her show.
Displeasure in knowing I schooled his girl
on how to take a real man to the hole.
I’m sure he thinks he won the game,
but this should keep his Nikes on the ground.
He’ll always be her 2nd draft choice behind me,
making him Mr. Rebound.
The backstory to this post
After I broke up with my “first” fiance, there was a small window where I played with the idea of getting back with her.
By then, she was “hanging out” with her best friend, who I thought was mad cool.
I actually went on a few dates with them and saw that he liked her.
So I chose a different path to allow their “like” to flourish.
Years later, he started talking shit about me. So I wrote this as a response.
Was it childish? Extremely.
Do I regret it? Sometimes. He was a nice guy.
Would I do it again? Probably. That Scorpio shit. 🙂