This is not a sad poem about a boy who doesn’t love me or a boy who suffocates me or a boy who angers me.
This is not a poem about a boy who calls me drunk at 3am and tells me about other girls and says how everything is my fault.
This is not a poem about a beautiful boy with beautiful words who only sees me as a friend.
This is not a poem about a boy who is possessive and yells at me when I don’t give all my attention to him.
This is a poem about a boy who laughs at my bad jokes and loves how I love words. About a boy who watches bad TV shows with me and plays with my fingers while his arm is around my shoulder. About a boy who plays piano and sings and makes me geniuenly happy.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
This is not a sad poem about a boy who doesn’t love me or a boy who suffocates me or a boy who angers me.
This is not a poem about a boy who calls me drunk at 3am and tells me about other girls and says how everything is my fault.
This is not a poem about a beautiful boy with beautiful words who only sees me as a friend.
This is not a poem about a boy who is possessive and yells at me when I don’t give all my attention to him.
This is a poem about a boy who laughs at my bad jokes and loves how I love words. About a boy who watches bad TV shows with me and plays with my fingers while his arm is around my shoulder. About a boy who plays piano and sings and makes me geniuenly happy.
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