They like it when I write them poems
In between mess and anxiety
My writing is a blossom of light
They say it’s always pretty
Even though it’s often not
I like to offer up hope
To their throbbing heart
So I write these words
In hope to make their pain stop
They like it when I bring rocks
A sign I care about them
even when I’m gone
They always smile upon holding the pebbles-
preciously and carefully collected to my care
I smile because I know
How wrong their impressions of me truly are
Yet, I desire their love more than
Anything
So I let them think I’m good
When I’m absolutely not

I love them through their mess
And I hope to God
They’ll stay through mine