Poetry is strange sometimes.
In the way that I'll write a poem,
Words flowing freely from my fingertips,
About all of it.
But when I read it now,
It almost feels like its about you.

Except I think you'd like my poetry.

Our conversation runs dry.
And I'm her again.

18.

Was I truly inhumane?
I know I shouldn't feel any pain,
But your absence,
It soils my existence
Like a blood stain.
And who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I to entertain
Your selfish choice to abstain
From communication.
From communication with her.
And who is her,
But she,

15.

Chasing a you.
And you're scared too.
You're scared to love me.
And you're scared to love me.
And I'm a fool.
Cause I wasn't scared to love you.
And who am I?
Who am I
But her.

20.

I'm scared to love you.