I deserve to be loved exclusively. Or something.

I always knew you were a lady's man,
but I thought I was a special girl.

But maybe you were bored,
and maybe I was easy.

But I've got these marks and bruises,
and my bedsheets still smell like you.

Bedroom eyes that say, come hither,
I won't ask for much.

And you never did give me very much,
but I thought that would be enough.