What if I fell
in love with you,
and you lost what's
left of your hearing,
and you couldn't
hear me say
I love you
anymore?

Words I write as I cry
are occasionally found
to be beautiful
Words I speak
and actions I take
are often ignored
If my written word
finds its way
into your heart,
Perhaps this
Is the greatest love
I'll never know

I feel as though living
without someone to cry over
is hardly living at all
I crave a connection with someone
who would make my world fall apart
if she became sick
I would give her everything
before I lay her to rest

Box pasta boils
on the 1950 stove
and I wonder why
I haven't written
in a while

I'll be in the middle of doing my thing...
Look,
Honestly,
I'm looking at ****, ok?
And I'll see a girl
doing something you liked to do
And I think,
You liked that...
and in general,
it's a turn-on,
But now,
I just remember you
and I miss you
Not just for what this girl and you do,
but YOU.
I actually stop.
I stop and write a poem, for ****'s sake.
And I miss you.

If I wear the right shirt
Is that how you'll fall in love with me?
If I groove the way you like
If I nod my head just right
If I wear the right shirt
Is that how you'll fall in love with me?

Is it really a healthy outlet,
Or does it cause me
to dwell on my pain?

Will I still want to write
if I become a healthy person?

I guess it would be okay if I don't;
I don't like writing enough
to stay this miserable

Maybe some day
I won't like the idea of her enough
to stay this miserable