my strangeness is coming to light again
unknown to my own, conceited yet in vain
i was never blind to my own longings,
i know what or who to disdain—my loathings,
but these days,
i’m a stranger to myself

you made me scream,
your name was on my screen
i was convinced you dislike me,
the ignorance in my letters lately.

should i say i was being naive,
thinking things you’ve shared
were for me to receive?

how come my feelings grow,
towards someone i barely know?
the more i distance myself from you,
the more they become true

was that a decline?
i’m bad at reading between the lines
nonetheless, i’m flattered
you acknowledged,
thought it was a bit vile,
bliss but your wit withal

you write feelings left unspoken
of those who were in blue.
i actually write too,
but only when i’m broken.
would that be a zero for you?

once i asked,
the question is still unanswered
but maybe you did,
unsure how i’m supposed to take it

you seem to be a great writer,
can you afford a small banter?
you softly pierced me
with your twisted harmony,
with your rhyme schemes,
shouldn't be unfortunately.