Sometimes they yell,

"WORTHLESS!"

And I listen,
Because

"Listening is the polite thing to do."

I used to see you,
On the green velvet chair.
You sat beside your ashes,
Legs crossed.

I was scared of you,
No matter how strong my love was,
It was drown out,
By the terror.

How ironic,
To write poetry
That speaks of
Love
As if it were a familiar friend.
I write the thoughts too large and complex to store in my head alone.
I have not yet found
'My person.'
But I write as if we have known each other forever.
Maybe,
In the end there is no one for me.
But until hope is lost,
I write about you.
A person that I haven't met.

My person.

Her perfect smile,
Shines brighter than his.
But he is what everyone expects I want.
He is what everyone expects I need.
But she is so beautiful,
She's everything I desire.
I wonder if she ever sees me
and
Thinks the same.

My stomach hurdles over these seemly Insignificant tasks.
With every attempted hop I stumble.
Something as simple as washing dishes feels insufferable.
The bubbles don't hug me as they did when I was smaller.
They mock me knowing that I cannot do something so simple.
Life is a river and I'm just a twig along for the treacherous ride.
I'm swept away.
My feet cannot provide me stability, they don't root themselves into the soil like everyone else does,
effortlessly.