I'll tell you

   
I'll tell you what you were.    
   
You were a notch on my bed post,    
locker room bragging rights.    
   
You were a cunt to receive my dick,    
a receiver of my wet dream's emissions.    
   
You were a blonde to follow the redhead,    
not as good as the brunet.    
   
You were way too short, barely up to my chin,    
not fun size at all.    
   
Your boobs were so small, most boys have more,    
couldn't fill a training bra.    
   
You were skinny, arms bony and legs gangly,    
all skeletal angles and points.    
   
You were a slippery mouth with a wet double jointed tongue,    
that swallowed my cum.    
   
Your mop head's hair, never combed, much less fixed,    
made good handles to hold your mouth around my cock.    
   
Your eyes were out of a cartoon, shadowed like a raccoon,  
one green and one blue.    
   
Your fingers were anorexic, without the grip of a noodle,    
barely good to stroke me before I entered you.    
   
Your ass was something to grip with my hands,    
as I unload my cum inside you.    
   
That's why I ignored you when I was with my guys.    
   
So why did it shatter my heart, cause me to sink to my knees,    
and wish I could die?    
   
When you walked out of my life, with a tear in your eye,    
and whispered over your shoulder,    
"I loved you."