always afraid
she kept looking for
monsters
under her bed
without realizing
the real monster
was sleeping
next to
her

i fell for you
i trusted you
i cried for you
i begged for you

you broke me
you lied to me
you wrecked me
you laughed at me

i got fixed
i learned
i grew
i left.

You say that I’m too good
and you don’t want to hurt me
But honey, don’t you see?
You can’t hurt a hurting soul,
nor can you break a broken heart

I read the poetry I can’t feel
And write the stories I cannot live

we are a waste
of love;
of moments;
of joy;
of beauty,
but never
of time.

this love feels
like the oldest tree,
that has lived many lives
and still has many more to live;
that looses its leaves at fall
but revives at spring;
that you could try to explain with poetry
but you never actually will