I awkwardly said,
I want to share my poems aloud,
At this place, underground.
I'd like it if you came.
No reply.
I anxiously mentioned,
Some of them will have you in them,
I'd like it if you came and heard,
What I had to say.
No reply.
A few days later, you talk to me, randomly.
I mention I want to see you.
I've had a bad day.
What's been bad, you say?
My job isn't working out and
my car situation is all ****** up,
and my family is ****** up too.
You don't have your car anymore?
No, family needed it more than I.
And I want to save some down before I get mine.
I say.
Emptily. Thinking. No big deal.
This is smart. This is what people do.
But you never replied.
Not once when I needed you the most.
Looking back I'm frustrated.
I cared an awful lot.
And because I did I shared myself instead of
Partaking in you. And I think at a point it became so...
needy. So frustrating. So unmanly in your eyes, that
combined with some ****** dysfunction,
we just died on the vine. Black, withered, and disgusting.
So even though we remembered being green it just,
could not go back that way. And the irony was if I had
just ever figured out how to be nonchalant,
and not care so ever ******* much,
then, chances are, you'd have been my lady.
Life is weird. People... relationships... I don't know.
It's a cruel joke sometimes. Ain't a poem for you anymore.
You never really wanted.... that. I don't know what you want but,
It isn't me. Not anymore.
My sister said, **** that *****
I smiled wryly and thought,
Once, but nevermore.
I think in the dark times of the night.
Even when the sky is bright,
Perhaps in a few years, when we are older...
I think with fear of a primal sort.
I have a girl that I love,
who I adore, and who doesn't necessarily mistreat me,
who keeps me though I'm an ******* and will take me
rich or poor but...
If you ever became someone who would come
and listen to my poetry
and hear what I have to say to you,
and cared, a little bit, sincerely,
and ever found me in your heart, truly, again...
What would I do?
I don't know but disgustingly,
I may always love you.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
I awkwardly said,
I want to share my poems aloud,
At this place, underground.
I'd like it if you came.
No reply.
I anxiously mentioned,
Some of them will have you in them,
I'd like it if you came and heard,
What I had to say.
No reply.
A few days later, you talk to me, randomly.
I mention I want to see you.
I've had a bad day.
What's been bad, you say?
My job isn't working out and
my car situation is all ****** up,
and my family is ****** up too.
You don't have your car anymore?
No, family needed it more than I.
And I want to save some down before I get mine.
I say.
Emptily. Thinking. No big deal.
This is smart. This is what people do.
But you never replied.
Not once when I needed you the most.
Looking back I'm frustrated.
I cared an awful lot.
And because I did I shared myself instead of
Partaking in you. And I think at a point it became so...
needy. So frustrating. So unmanly in your eyes, that
combined with some ****** dysfunction,
we just died on the vine. Black, withered, and disgusting.
So even though we remembered being green it just,
could not go back that way. And the irony was if I had
just ever figured out how to be nonchalant,
and not care so ever ******* much,
then, chances are, you'd have been my lady.
Life is weird. People... relationships... I don't know.
It's a cruel joke sometimes. Ain't a poem for you anymore.
You never really wanted.... that. I don't know what you want but,
It isn't me. Not anymore.
My sister said, **** that *****
I smiled wryly and thought,
Once, but nevermore.
I think in the dark times of the night.
Even when the sky is bright,
Perhaps in a few years, when we are older...
I think with fear of a primal sort.
I have a girl that I love,
who I adore, and who doesn't necessarily mistreat me,
who keeps me though I'm an ******* and will take me
rich or poor but...
If you ever became someone who would come
and listen to my poetry
and hear what I have to say to you,
and cared, a little bit, sincerely,
and ever found me in your heart, truly, again...
What would I do?
I don't know but disgustingly,
I may always love you.
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