I’m writing this for me as much as I’m writing it for you.

Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.

They say it’s best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didn’t you make me cry.

You keep saying that I don’t get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.

Don’t ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that your  cries of help are a brat’s way to complain.

You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.

I don’t want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
It’s just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.

....