a million poems later and
i have not written anything
that could convince you
to love me back.

Strong.
Vivacious.
That's what I'm going to be.


That's what I am.
I just needed to see it.

Classic unrequited love,
And I've fallen hard,
Waiting for a whisper of your interest,
Feeling hot and ashamed at my lack of self control
You drag me through mental thorns,
And I let you,
The scratches on my soul are pleasure-pain.
Shouldn't keep going back,
Do.
Every time.

ecniS uoy tfel,
I tnaw ot nruter ot eht tsap,
Ot og kcab.

She appeared at the top of the staircase,
Light tangled in her auburn curls,
She gazed upon the glitter dance,
Where dresses spun in hazy whirls.

The delicate hand on the bannister,
As she descends from above,
Those lazy green eyes scanning,
The ballroom floor for her love.

He does not appear, she waits for hours,
Until the slow waltz does sound,
She tears his diamonds from her neck,
Those cut-glass dreams on the ground.

Hey you,
I didn't want anything special,
Just a night cuddled up,
On the sofa,
Big cups of tea and digestives
(Shotgun the chocolate ones),
No programme in particular,
Just talking together
Like we used to.

There is a sense,
Of having to go with dignity,
Too strong to break,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of fighting for a cause,
Too weak to battle,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of losing track of time,
Too tired to check,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of time slipping away,
Too scared to go,
Preparing for goodbyes.

There is a sense,
Of relief at the end,
Too lost to cry,
Preparing for goodbyes.