I'm like the crumpled up poem in the deep of your coat pocket,
forgotten.
Until you reach your hand in, snaking around for your chapstick.
You write a few more words and then shove it back in,
waiting for your next stroke of inspiration,
your next breach of intrepidness.
But until then,
I'm just another crumpled receipt in your coat pocket.
Maybe one day I'll be able to tell you I love you.
Maybe one day you'll care.
But until then,
keep writing your mindful thoughts
on the crumpled up paper in your coat pocket.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 3:19 PM UTC
I'm like the crumpled up poem in the deep of your coat pocket,
forgotten.
Until you reach your hand in, snaking around for your chapstick.
You write a few more words and then shove it back in,
waiting for your next stroke of inspiration,
your next breach of intrepidness.
But until then,
I'm just another crumpled receipt in your coat pocket.
Maybe one day I'll be able to tell you I love you.
Maybe one day you'll care.
But until then,
keep writing your mindful thoughts
on the crumpled up paper in your coat pocket.