When you found out I favored writing poetry
you probably thought I was into haiku
because I loved to be precise but,
I remind you that I'm not one for
style-

the words always spill out, boiling
scalding water traveling up my trakia
dragging parts of my tissue as it
entered the real world; and it was judgement day

it hurts being dimwitted,
dull as you say I am, plastered across a door mat
as you invite everyone to wipe their feet on
the girl with the air filled personality, but
the kind heart

Your opinion always meant the most to me
and now that you're gone,
understand that I forgive you