Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nuala Woods Jul 2013
When is it time?
Time to go, or time to be happy.
You tell me, the only times I'm happy are when I'm with you.
But the feelings aren't mutual, so what are they?
How can you act one way, but feel a different way?
So tell me, make me happy or break my already broken heart.
My feelings are in your hands, so take the wheel and make up your mind.
Nuala Woods Jul 2013
If you show me yours I'll show you mine,
Just don't tell my parents because they think I'm fine.
I put on a happy face and I even have myself fooled sometimes,
But when I'm alone, the pain seeks through, when is it time to be happy?
Nuala Woods Jun 2013
I love the way you make me feel.
Your hand on my back and the way you kiss me hello.  
The hugs that could last a lifetime.
You could hold me forever and I wouldn't mind.
Those goose bumps I get when you're around.
The way you say my name and the way you kiss me.
It's all a dream though. And you don't kiss me. Or hug me. Or love me at all.
It's all a dream.
Nuala Woods Jun 2013
How can you not see? Hello?
I am right here.
I feel like I have to scream for you to hear,
I could stand in front of you with a sign saying I love you and you wouldn't see.
You wouldn't see the hopelessness inside of me.
Nuala Woods Jun 2013
I am a book.
I am not just any book, I am the first edition and I am the last edition.
Only special people can fold over my pages, so don't treat me poorly.
My cover may not be perfect,
It may have rips, or scratches, but you will not know what's inside until I've given you at least two paper cuts and you have decided to keep reading.
Nuala Woods Jun 2013
Tell me as many times as you would like.
Tell me you don't love me.
I won't pretend to be alright.
Because this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach,
This feeling is there shining bright.
And you may not love me and that may or may not be alright.
Because maybe if I love you enough you will love me.
But all of these thoughts racing through my mind, are all lies.
Just lies there to say that I'm okay.
But in the end they are just lies,
And I am left alone with my thoughts to die.
I don't even know if this is a poem. Whatever.

— The End —