It’s hard to write happy –
It just gets sappy.
I can write sad and I can write mad,
But my poems about you are just so BAD.
I think about you and am filled with joy!
Fancy that! All this for a BOY!
Together, forever, wherever, ALAS!
This feeling, I think, will never pass.
I like you, I like you, I like you a lot!
Our future, I fear, I am beginning to plot!
We’ll get married and say our I do,
Pack up our things, and go somewhere new,
You’ll be a good father, I’m sure that you will,
You’ll hold me tightly, even when I’m ill.
We’ll have a child (a boy or a girl),
Our lives will spin into quite a whirl.
They’ll grow up like you, thoughtful and kind,
A flaw in them I shall never find.
We’ll have our fights,
Hushed ones in the nights,
I’ll won’t find the words for why I love you,
But I never knew why, I just knew that I knew.
But perhaps with space, or maybe just your face,
I’ll be reminded of your goodness and grace.
But maybe, just maybe, when we’re old and gray,
I’ll get it, I'll get it, I’ll have found a way.
Scraps from some notes from little me's journal sewn together anew. Tried to hit that childish excitement about life that is really so beautiful. I'm a grouchy cynic now who just writes sad and mad, and that makes me sad and mad.
I talked to my young cousin who often fancies herself in love, and nearly forces young boys to her will, proclaiming herself engaged to them