He’s not my boyfriend but he hurts my feelings like he is.
He calls me pretty and then he won’t speak to me for hours
I’ll just send him a picture of my body so he likes me again
He’s not my boyfriend but he tells me he loves me like he is.
He gets me drunk and kisses my forehead in the party bathroom like I’m his girlfriend,
but he doesn’t even know my middle name or my favorite color
He’s not my boyfriend but when I’m in his sheets and he’s kissing me I feel like he could be,
if only he’d ask about my dreams or my future plans—
show the slightest interest in my passions.
At least he thinks I’m pretty.
He’s not my boyfriend but he plays with my hair like he is.
I hope he likes that it’s pink.
I’d change it if he didn’t.
He’s not my boyfriend, but sometimes when I’m up late at night I really wish he was.