The first time you
Said hello,
I didn't know whether
To freeze at the fact
That you were acknowledging my existence
Or to freeze at the ******* fact
That YOU were acknowledging my existence.
She was a writer
and I fall inlove **** easily.
Her metaphors, similes, sonnets
on Sunday mornings.
but she never
wrote about me
"I loved you (past tense)
but you never quite loved me"
Concrete would crack
and grow old before
you ever admitted that you needed me
and at the time I didn't think
much of it
Because my mind
Was 3 years ahead,
contemplating on which
apartment we should call
"Ours",
but I should've seen the signs
and listened to my fragile
but accurate heart.
I chose not to,
Because who would?
(Nothing good ever comes
from listening to the voice
Inside your chest)
This poem is about you,
but it is also not about you.
Because if I leave you under
the impression that it's meant for
somebody else,
I might be able to salvage
my barley-breathing pride
Or I could swallow it.
In hopes that it doesn't claw it's
Way out of my mouth
And whisper the words
'I still love you'
That would be awful.