I needed silence to write this but I kept singing to music.
Singing in a language I can barely understand but I can somehow sing fluently. I'm not surprised.
You can't sing and write poetry.
But You can't avoid the fact that you can't stop thinking about a boy that ruined your life 8 months ago.
You can't avoid the fact that you refused to write corny love poems about him when you were with him. But here we are spilling the agony of our heart.
Okay
What the **** God?!
I mean really, what the ****
I get put in a classroom with him. Like being in the same school wasn't bad enough.
I get sat in the front of the classroom. right. next. to him.
I have to watch a girl that I was just becoming friends with hold hands with my ex. But you said your a lesbian right?
You blue eyed pretty ***** with your pale skin and gay humor.
And you, the stoner. The stoner making dumb jokes out of your *** The stoner who sits in class and does jack-shit. The stoner with the glossy red eyes getting high with your new little freshman. I'll call you a ********* to make myself feel better. But me and my friends will call you a ******* loser. Quite frankly we might both be. I mean I changed but what can I say, my friends tell me you're still the same goofy idiot. Except you're not my goofy idiot. Mr. nonchalant. Do I call this poetry or a rant or vice versa?
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 11:31 PM UTC
I needed silence to write this but I kept singing to music.
Singing in a language I can barely understand but I can somehow sing fluently. I'm not surprised.
You can't sing and write poetry.
But You can't avoid the fact that you can't stop thinking about a boy that ruined your life 8 months ago.
You can't avoid the fact that you refused to write corny love poems about him when you were with him. But here we are spilling the agony of our heart.
Okay
What the **** God?!
I mean really, what the ****
I get put in a classroom with him. Like being in the same school wasn't bad enough.
I get sat in the front of the classroom. right. next. to him.
I have to watch a girl that I was just becoming friends with hold hands with my ex. But you said your a lesbian right?
You blue eyed pretty ***** with your pale skin and gay humor.
And you, the stoner. The stoner making dumb jokes out of your *** The stoner who sits in class and does jack-shit. The stoner with the glossy red eyes getting high with your new little freshman. I'll call you a ********* to make myself feel better. But me and my friends will call you a ******* loser. Quite frankly we might both be. I mean I changed but what can I say, my friends tell me you're still the same goofy idiot. Except you're not my goofy idiot. Mr. nonchalant. Do I call this poetry or a rant or vice versa?