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Apr 2014
I'm stupidly sad over a boy that's not mine.
I'm stupidly sad thinking of them waiting in line.
For a concert we never got to see,
An embodiment of you and me.
I know you held her hand,
and sang her those lyrics that now I can't stand.
Battling spite.
Those things we shared late late at night.
I'm stupidly sad over a boy that's not mine.
When will this heal?
Where's my bandaid of time?
a poem to be birthed. but possibly too late.Β Β think on this some more. this isn't the poem it's supposed to be.
bekka walker
Written by
bekka walker  LA
(LA)   
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