It's Not You, It's Me

Well, Darlin', sit down, we need to chat,

'Bout why my suitcase is by the mat.

It's not your cooking or your morning stomp,

Or the way you leave the toilet swamp.

It’s not you, it’s me, it’s my own flaws,

Like how I can't stand your mother-in-law's claws.

It surely ain’t your shrieking, late-night TV spree,

It’s not you, it’s me... well, mostly you, actually.

I loved your laugh till it started to grate,

And your snore ain't music, it's construction-grade.

I ain't saying you're sweeter with less caffeine,

But when you talk in your sleep, girl, it's downright mean.

It’s not you, it’s me, if I’m being real,

It’s just your quirks ain't part of the deal.

It’s not your pet squirrel or its midnight pee,

It’s not you, it’s me... except maybe that tree.

Remember that time you set fire to the shed,

And you blamed the raccoon in my tool drawer instead?

Your tender heart, well, it sure means a bunch,

But your texts hit 20 every half-time lunch.

Now don't you cry, girl, you're better off,

Without my hound who wheezes and coughs.

And while your cat’s been eyeing me all week,

I’d swear it's plotting my eternal sleep.