How to be a bad boy

The night you lied about who was calling
while we were on the phone together—
I called my ex afterwards.

That day you wouldn’t kiss me
 because your friend was around—
I slept with my neighbour.

That time you refused to call me “babe”
because he was standing right there—
I made it official with someone else.

The moment you didn’t pick up
 because you were with colleagues—
I had someone come over.

That instant you didn’t blow a kiss
 because your friend was in the car—
I went to the club and got blown 
after offering her a job.

The second you cut my call 
because you saw my name on the screen—
I called Shereen over and made her scream.

The minute you called me
 by my government name
 because your friend walked in—
she slipped her number in my pocket
 and I used it the moment we hung up.

That December you acted like
 we were just friends in front of your pal—
the next December, with girls over,
 one asked if I was seeing anyone. 
I called you boring and dull.

When you refused to accept
 my Instagram request—
I asked a fan for nudes
 and enjoyed them right there next to you.

Those Friday nights I hated being on my own and
 you had excuses to be “alone”—
I always took somebody home.

All those missed calls
 while you were out with friends—
that’s when I decided
 you didn’t deserve my loyalty.

Every time I left your place early
 because a friend was coming over—
I slept with someone else.

All the nights you lied
 about who you were with—
I lied too,
 and it was never my bed I was in.

Every time I played dead
 when your phone lit up with another man’s name—
a piece of my love for you died.

And every hour 
you flirted with someone else on the phone—
I was having phone sex too.
 And she always came over.

Each time you cropped my face
 out of a picture before posting—
I cropped you out of my heart.

Every week your phone lit up
 with the same name—
I smiled, 
because now we were just playing the same game.

Every hit I took from you—
I lost a little more guilt.

And every excuse
 you gave not to sleep with me—
was an excuse for me
 to sleep with someone else.

Need I go on?

About every moment you made me feel small
 and I had to keep a straight face and play ball?

I hope every false confession I’ve just made
hurt you as much as you hurt me.

And if sins of the mind count, 
then I’m guilty of every one—
because that’s what I truly wanted to do
 each and every time.