Writing this poem
Is as difficult as
Translating my thoughts into accurate words.
Even though I'm not good,
I admit that I try.
I can't say the same about you.
We talk about
The same
Things
Every
*******
Day.
You don't trust me enough to just let me in.
"Friend"
If that is what you are.
Or is that just a title I have,
So that you don't feel so alone?
You are a puzzle.
Yes.
You.
This stupid little game is making me sick.
Every **** day
I find out
I'm missing another piece
Of the bigger picture.
Of you.
I can barely even put the pieces together.
And I'm just wondering if I should leave you
Unfinished.