i write out my feelings.
are they true? are the words i put out true?

hell, i don’t even know.


reading your poems about her, god

*******.


****.

yknow?


i don’t know if i can do this.


i’ve gotten better, honestly,



but now the scent of food makes me gag,


the sight of you makes me warm.


and she glares, making me stop.



i want to hug you.

to call you mine.


BUT GOD I ALWAYS KEEP QUIET FOR TOO LONG AND I DONT EVEN KNOW IF THE THINGS YOU TELL ME ARE TRUE BECAUSE IM SURE YOU WOULDNT TELL MY **** BUT-

but-

but it’s okay.


i’m a bit jealous, is all.


oh well.



at least your happy with the person who took you away