Maybe it a curse,
That unrequited is the only one to know me for who I am,
Maybe it’s a curse, that love and I aren’t meant to be friends
All the
Pretty guys with nice eyes always seem to overlook mine,
And I,
I always seem to stand to the side as,

My ghost on campus leaves with a goodbye that contrasts the simple hi

And the one with frame worth eyes, just lies

And what could’ve been no longer crosses my mind,

But the one from that Saturday night lingers around sometimes, but

Maybe it’s a curse or it’s a blessing in disguise,
That unrequited is a shield that guards me from the, pains and heart aches that the guys of this era creates

It has to be some sort of sick spell cast upon me like Maleficent did Sleeping Beauty,

But reject it as I may,
Maybe this curse is my saving grace
For As much heartache unrequited creates,
It saves me from the strongest hex called heartbreak.

Can we go back to a time when music was good?
When songs were made for quality over quantity,
And words were so meticulously chosen to make  a bar so elegant,
and eloquent,
And mixed so perfectly with the music that it felt nice on the ear drums

Can we go back to when words held weight?
To when diss tracks were 5 minutes and 13 seconds long?
That made the two coasts split even more than just distance?

Take me back to when, rnb actually put people in their feelings,
When you can communicate through music,
And stories were told through rhythm and lyrics.

When every problem became a waterfall that shouldn’t be chased, and a “scrub” was added to the slang dictionary.

When album of the year was actually worked for, and the winning album was not just for songs sung over,
When music videos were good, and not filled with air bending, and **** shaking,
Less sampling,
And real story telling,

Can we steer away from killing bill, and focus on being at your best?
Or being serenaded in candy rain instead of hearing what youngboy says?
Can we go back to a time when music was good?
Because this, this is no where close where it once stood

Nine lines aren't enough for me to confess the love I have for you.
It cannot begin to explain your ineffable beauty,
Or the Darcey rose color you bring to my cheeks.
It can't describe the bright light in your eyes and the sparkles it brings to mine,
Nor the way you make my heart race.

But for now, love,
Let nine lines be enough to give an idea of the affection I hold for you in my heart.

I gave the boy with the pretty frame-worthy eyes a pen the other day in class,

I switched the top of the black one I gave him to the blue that I used, and vice verse-a giving him a blue-black pen and me a black-blue one.

To him, in that moment,
I was just goofing off in class instead of listening to the teacher yap,

But to me, the pens and the colors meant something,
The day I made that blue-black pen, I was trying to make me and him,
The blue me, the black him, and together, us.
It was my heart,
And me giving him the blue-black pen was in a way, me giving him my love.

Maybe he missed the message in between the lines, or maybe he chose to by pass it,
Or maybe,
What I thought we had going on, was a delusion,
Maybe it was only one sided, and the connection was all in my head,

Perhaps I should’ve left the pens alone,
leaving my feelings unknown, and the lack of reciprocation would’ve hurt a little less,
But now my heart aches,
Especially whenever I see that cursed blue-black pen.

What could have been?
It’s something that crosses my mind every once in a while,
And no matter how hard I try not to,
I always end up thinking about it.

Would it have worked if I walked up to him?
If I had complimented his pretty smile and beautiful poetry?
If I had stared a little longer than just a glance, would he have noticed me?
Would me just being blunt, and confessing to him get me the reciprocation I wanted?
Would that have gained me the pretty boy with personality, that now haunts me like a ghost in campus hallways?

What could have been?

If I followed through with my plans to get him,
Would I currently be calling him?
Would we be exchanging good morning texts and poems if I had listened and just talked to him?

What could’ve been?

If I had wished him more than good luck,
would I be wishing him a safe return when he leaves?
Would I be sharing with him my deepest of thoughts, and all the love I put into my poetry?
If I was honest would our story be one for the books?
If I played my cards right, would he have been mine?

What could have been?
It’s something I can’t help but think about.
The thought lingers around my mind the same way he lingers around my heart
What could have been?