I'm not good with words,
in fact I'm horrible at it
I can never cope with the indecision to choose which words to use
or fuss over grammatical ratification
and I could never transition my thoughts into perfect little sentences

but the sun was shining so radiantly,
amplifying the contours of your face,
from your rich brown eyes,
to hair that looked so soft it shouldn't exist,
and at that moment I thought;
"if you could see yourself right now,
you'd be rendered speechless too,"

I didn't like the colour pink
nor did I play dress up and called for tea parties in the afternoon
I tend to stand out a little
maybe too much, in a bad way
and all I hear is the resounding laughter
coming from my left, my right and everywhere

"Maybe they're not laughing at you," I try to soothe my savaged nerves
but the damage's been done
I'm running out the door
I'm caught between reality and dream
all the **** ******* time

you can't erase a thought
you can't purge a memory
and you can't pretend it didn't happen

I never knew how to ever start writing poems
the stanzas are either too little
or too much
sometimes I give up all together
and lay in my room or stare at the stars in the night sky
(if there were any)

but one thing I do know
is how small the fragments of a broken heart can be
how it shatters and obliterates even before it hits
how the edges are never sharp, but always smooth and worn out
its sad how oblivious the world is
to someone who just got their heart broken
by the one they trusted the most.