Iβm writing this for me as much as Iβm writing it for you.
Honey, this poem might be a hit or just loads of *******.
They say itβs best to have loved and lost, than never loved at all. But is that true?
With that said, do you remember your now dead bestie? Of course you do.
Do you remember when you came to school all blue?
Remember when I thought you would make me say adieu?
Thinking it was time for goodbye.
Oh boy didnβt you make me cry.
You keep saying that I donβt get it.
you are so stubborn that of convincing you of the opposite I quit.
Donβt ask me to explain.
All I know is that with every experience you gain, with every pain you go through you seem to drain.
All I know is that people think that yourΒ Β cries of help are a bratβs way to complain.
You say that you are not special.
And with your own depression you wrestle .
Yet you believe that you are the only one going through this existential crisis.
I donβt want to sound superficial or artificial the thing is everyone is special, thus being special is the ordinary, the initial, the unofficial official.
Itβs just a matter of who will find their potential before they become celestial.
....
This is all I feel like writing FOR NOW.
Btw Iβm writing this for/about a friend.
Iβm obviously gonna come back for a part 2.
Anyways, Iβm pretty positive that this is my most honest and fast work (wrote this in like 20mins)
