he makes her happy
like sunshine after a rainstorm
like surprises on Christmas
like extra whipped cream on lattes
like perfect winged eyeliner
he makes her happy
and we all know
she makes him happy too
like an A+ on an exam
like the perfect parallel park
nothing is more perfect than that
You’re on my timeline again today,
Stop approaching, I’m trying to evade,
A kryptonite, what a name to say,
For the person who gives so much pain for days.
Never knew the feeling won’t fade,
Maybe I’m trying so hard to keep it inside,
Unhealthy, oh god i need a break,
From reminiscing anything related to you,
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
How do I stop this feeling?
It’s hurting so bad, cliff jumping feels easier,
You’re happy yet I’m here clinging,
To someone I can never have,
I’m stuck; should I wait? Should I leave?
My kryptonite, why do you have to be one?
So lovely and mesmerizing to look at
But a torment in disguise and may eradicate,
The perfect definition for you if I might say.
I adore you from far away, always have and always will.
poetry is hard
everybody wants to read
your most personal thoughts
the only success you'll see
is when you paint your heart across the page
and pour your soul into pressing that simple "save"
my voice seems worthless until I spill my secrets for the world to see
but what if I want to keep secrets to myself
and let the world see what it thinks it wants
let me write soppy stories of summer days
or mornings filled with cliched coffee cups
loaded with the "real" problems every poet apparently has
the real Problem is that everybody has a problem with not having problems
why can't we be happy having perfect lives
instead, I have to pretend I have problems
when all I really have is the standard stress that comes with being young
The closest thing I have to a real problem is the parabola on my worksheet and the other math problems beyond it
I'm no different from any other aspiring author
wanting recognition for lying
and imagining problems into existence
because no story exists without conflict
and no peace exists with problems
so we have a bit of a perfect problem paradox
He's like the first snowfall
in the beginning of winter.
After the heat and craze
of a stressful summer,
he shows up to cool you down
and is so lovely, but funny too.
He'll cheer you up,
even if it means throwing a snowball at you!
While blizzards sometimes occur,
he always goes back to that softness.
The softness that looks so perfect and simple.
The same way it looked
after the first snow fall.
What you don't see:
The crushing heavy weight,
Chained onto me,
Being dragged behind my every step
The perfectionists soul,
Tainting every penstroke,
Ruthlessly, painfully driving me to my goals
The endless tears,
Refusing to settle down,
Always concerned about my stubborn fears
What you choose not to see.
Why is it so confusing?
Dating, I mean
Why is it you never speak your heart?
Why do you give me the small glimpse of hope?
Why do that and take it away?
I tell you, you're the one
I look at you, as if I have seen a goddess
I treat you as if you're a queen
We share a beautiful kiss
Yet im here
Dinner for two
With an empty seat in front of me
Not a word
Not an apology