Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2016
And tell me why I make such fuss
About a boy across from me sitting on the bus,
I try to keep his features running in my head
Such lust is a spiritual death.
I could not agree more but his style,
Costs my eyes a side dart and a red smile,
But something I tell you that I really must
Talk to this boy sitting next to me on the bus,
Maybe he thinks something of me, it goes to show, I can't stop staring he probably knows,
Or I am something unnerving to him,
What if I am?
Where would I meet him sometime,
Our only crossroad is a bus jam
Packed with everybody going back and forth,
But I cannot keep your face straight, what's the worst?
I hope you someday will talk to me,
But hope is not my reality.
Joseph Hart
Written by
Joseph Hart  Virginia
(Virginia)   
654
     Lior Gavra and Bianca Reyes
Please log in to view and add comments on poems