She played me like a Poundland fiddle
But now I’m writing my own tune.
Cutting the cord that once had strangled me,
No longer following her to the moon.
Sure, I still think of her when it rains
Or when a tune plays in an old friend’s car.
Yet the thought does not hurt me like it did,
Speaking too soon? No I can finally acknowledge that I have come far.
My redemptive story might seem underwritten
Badly produced or morbidly dour.
But I’m here in 2022 with a real smile on my face
Relationship status ‘Single’ but no longer sour.