You asked me to write about you - something happy for a change,
About our shared miracle , but this request is strange.
You want me to smile, while I keep writing about sorrow,
You wanted jovial memories, not the love he used to ruthlessly borrow.
I cannot spin us into poetry, it is a feat too tough,
You anticipate soft verses, while my words are a bit too rough.
I even refuse to write about all the unforgettable scars I gave,
How I left them to burn - souls in no way you can save.
So instead of your love, I wish to lie about how they broke my heart,
Call me vindictive but it is the only way I fabricate art.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
You asked me to write about you - something happy for a change,
About our shared miracle , but this request is strange.
You want me to smile, while I keep writing about sorrow,
You wanted jovial memories, not the love he used to ruthlessly borrow.
I cannot spin us into poetry, it is a feat too tough,
You anticipate soft verses, while my words are a bit too rough.
I even refuse to write about all the unforgettable scars I gave,
How I left them to burn - souls in no way you can save.
So instead of your love, I wish to lie about how they broke my heart,
Call me vindictive but it is the only way I fabricate art.
#9 on 52weekpoetrychallenge
