Writing out my songs,
Then listening to yours,
And suddenly my music doesn’t flow as well.

Writing out my poems,
Then reading over yours,
And suddenly my words don’t meld together like before.

Doing something that seems all my own,
Until you do it too.
I wish that we could bond over it
But instead I choose to break.

Because it always has to be 
either “mine”
or “yours,”
but never 
“ours.”