I left my pen in my desk,
I buried my feelings deep in my chest.
The words had been lost
and now they’re back, my heart the cost.
I realized what pen and paper meant to me
they cleared up the muddled feelings so I could see.
But now I wish I’d seen you,
they didn’t warn me about what you could do.
I guess it’s good to know now,
so my heart didn’t get invested, only to take its last bow.
Friends.
You said you were different
filled my head with make-believe until I wasn’t coherent.
See, I neatly played my house of cards,
and when it fell, windows broke, and I tried to pick up the shards.
Bare Hands. Bloodied. Tired.
I wish I could take back all the actions that transpired.
Can we pretend?
Before, when this wasn’t a dead end.
Because I didn’t love you, but I cared
and you knew all my feelings, they lay bared.
“I won’t leave.”
You actually got me to believe.
That’s when you pulled away,
now I feel like ripped jeans; I’m frayed.
Not broken, but bruised
you left me beyond confused.
But, I’ve got my pen and paper
and my feelings, as I write, turn to vapor.
If you need to leave; go.
The hurt means I’ll grow.