It starts with a peach
It was a good peach
Not spectacular but
Still pretty good
It was free stone
So the flesh fell away
And I was left
With a pit
And an idea

Then the planting
Had to wait
For my mother
To get off the phone
To show a ***
Where my peach pit
Could grow
Bury it deep underneath
Fresh bagged dirt
I'm hoping it will grow
I'm still not really sure

If my peach does grow
I'll have more peaches
Or a tree at least
With fruit to come
I read up online
About how to take care
Of a baby peach tree
When to water and prune
When to let flowers
Blossoms and when to
Pluck away the stems

Now I get to wait
Through long winter days
Watch my peach pit
Grow or not grow
It isn't up to me
I'll hope it'll sprout
Into a lovely tree
But right now
It's just a peach pit
A tiny rock
Full of promise

Obsession makes you over protective
I don’t know if it’s a clause or adjectives
You make me go down on my knees,
‘For the love I had for you.
I can even wash your *******,
If that’s cool by you.
If your love gonna sum up to a cost
I dunno
it’s a curse that I won’t be with you but all alone
I trust you like I’m waiting for the end
I’ll hate you like I saw you with ‘nother man on bed
I will **** me, you, him for fast judgment
You won’t be the one to tell me that’s the end

Jesus Christ.
I blame it on my personality
ENTP
funny, but romantically inept in using it
Smart, but overbearing
Curious, but boundless in exploration
All of these are virtues I have but cannot manipulate.
It haunts me. I hate myself.

Reality
Hurts
Introspection invites pain
Introspection invites healing

I am a gutless fool.
I wallow in excuses.
“I never have the opportunity to talk to her”
Make them.
“I’m not good enough for her”
She stares at you in class.

I love that feeling.
Whenever our eyes meet.
My heart drops. And so does my stomach.
It feels like the floor beneath me.
For that split second. Falls away. It scares me.
Inviting us both into our own world of benevolence.
A flash I wish could be eternity.
Then our gazes dash away just as quickly as they collided.
“Did she notice?”
“Did he notice?”

We “flirted” a lot in 7th grade.
Then we’re separated by schedule.

Didn’t matter.
My pea sized mind...
It couldn’t fathom or even comprehend love.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
I hope you still might want me.

English assignment: write a soliloquy about a personal decision.
I write one about my in complacence and unsureness of sharing my opinion.
You write one about dying your hair blue.
Through your short work you’re funny and shy.

Oh my ******* god. I adore you to death.

At the end you show a stick figure drawing of you next to a college with blue hair.
Labeled: me in college with blue hair.
******* goofy.
I absolutely love it.

If you had blue hair I wouldn’t care.
You’d still be jaw dropping.
Though it would match your eyes.
You have the most gorgeous blue eyes in the entire world.
I literally could get lost in them forever.
They’re so...
Deep.
Deep like I try to make my poems.
cough
cough

Anyway.

Anything I create though could not be as exquisite.
An ecstasy one could die from.

I feel so creepy reflecting on your looks without you knowing. Like I’m stalking you in my mind?

I haven’t flirted since that math class we shared.
I’m afraid I’m rusty. Dilapidated.
I would say something that would push you away.

Or.

I tap your shoulder.
Be hypnotized by your eyes and stand there.
Mute.

Oh...

And the sweat.
My palms would be moister than an oyster.
I’d be beet red.
My voice would quiver.
And boom. It’s awkward for both of us.

Awkward can be nice. Just.
At appropriate times.

I’m so weak.
I have no map to a reservoir of strength.
I have no courage to confront you.
I desperately want it.
I need assistance in acquiring it.

Funny.
I’m a curious guy.
Always looking for adventure in books etc.
But I’m haunted by adventuring toward you.
I see a treacherous path that with one mistake.
I die.

If I make no mistakes.
I win a prize I see myself as undeserving of.

So excuses I make.
And withering inside I drool over you.

We both never talk to the other ***.
I want to talk to you.
And I think you might want to talk to me.
But I block our mingling through fear I cannot control even if it might benefit us both.

I need help.
I’m afraid of getting help.
Then I’d try something and mess up.

Oh my god. Help me.