its 2am and im writing you this poem,
you came across my head.
its weird because you usually don’t,
but here i am, writing poetry about you.
2am and im writing this poem.
its just me, my pen, journal, and this empty bed.
i admit, i am not like this — blunt.
i had a sharp tongue but something happened — you.
i remember how your arms became my home,
how we slow danced in the living room which you always led,
i loved how we listened to each other’s rants,
i loved the times that there was only a thing i needed — you.
funny how we’ve grown,
apart but there’s so much ahead.
this is no romantic poetry for my lad
this is my art of letting go of my thoughts of you.
