That's like telling the sky that it's blue.
It's a well known fact that doesn't need to be said aloud.
I came to terms with it long ago,
you should do the same.

Yet here we are,
I don't know if you're saying it because you're only just realizing it,
or if you're saying it to hurt me,
to disarm me,
to make me more vulnerable than I already am.

You're the one who chose to love the crazy girl.
I never chose to be crazy,
it is just something that happened-
I'm pretty sure it's genetic-
it's the way I am.

Love me for my crazy ways,
or not at all.
You know I'll be waiting for your answer,
I'm crazy,
after all.

is a feather.
It falls,
so gracefully,
dancing
in the air
until
it hits the floor,
soundlessly.

I've written you countless poems,
I'm sure you've never taken the time to read them.
I speak what I feel,
I never keep anything inside.
So why are you having so much trouble reading me?

I'm an open book.

Even in this ever bustling metropolis it is easy to feel alone.
I never thought I would ache to be home,
to drive along the oceanside with the heat blasting in my car.
I always thought I was better than that.
But right now the ocean is calling me,
or perhaps it is the moon,
its waxing and waning signaling me to return home.

I've written you many times:
poems
letters
messages.
I get none in return,
just empty promises.
How much longer do I have to hold on to the smallest things?
Love can only do so much.
I know,
I live in the past far too often.
I have a habit of holding grudges,
but what can I say,
it's genetic?
I can't let go of things that were said and done,
on your end- not mine.
I need something to make me forget.
I need a great love,
declaration of feelings.
Will that ever happen?