I can write you into poetry,
breathe your name in my sleep.
But my words are hollow,
and my eyelids are so heavy.
See,
I didn't want to write another poem
about you
or love at all,
for that matter.
But its so hard
to not feel like
a character in a *******
John Green novel
when you talk about her
And I can't help thinking
I can love you so much better.
I don't think she notices
your eyes when you laugh,
or your one crooked tooth,
or that that's not even your natural hair color,
and I don't think she notices
when you're upset
or if she does
she doesn't care
And it pains me to think that
you love so fully
and completely,
like Pudge,
but I am not your Alaska.
And I can't help thinking
you deserve someone
who will love you like Hazel Grace,
who will see constellations in your face
and won't laugh when you cry.
But now matter how many cliches
I write down
or if I'm sleeping beauty,
I can't help feeling
that somewhere along the line
I got stage fright and couldn't play
Augustus right,
like I'm the only character
who forgot the words,
and that's stupid because
I'm supposed to be a main character,
but somehow I got mixed up
with the background.
So I don't know if this is my fault
for mistaking myself
for someone more important,
or if I'd even make a difference
if I was