when i see you
i see trees
because of all the paper
you’ve caused to be wasted
when i hear your voice
i hear the scratching of a pen
and i think of all the ink
that’s been spilled in your honor
when i think of you
i think of a ******* bin
full of notebooks
with all the poems
you’ll never read
about the first time i saw you
and i tried to capture your face on paper
about the first time i heard your voice
and i wasted ink trying to describe it
about how i think of you
and i still fill up notebooks
with poems you’ll never read.