I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.

through the pages
i find my worth
a daydreamer lost on earth

I catch it knocking nightly
On the center of my mind
This thing they call the conscience
Letting me know wrong from right

It gives me room to wiggle
As I preform my daily feats
Although most are rather simple
It still keeps an eye on me

It helps me in my comings
And goings both the same
To keep at bay the dreaded face
I've come to know as shame

My conscience serves a purpose
In all the do's and don'ts I find
Floating on the surface
Of this crazy thing called life

It keeps a watchful eye on me
In all my ups and downs
This thing they call a conscience
Thankfully always hangs around

You drew me once
It feels like forever ago
You were able to capture all the curves of my face
You knew me like no other
You looked at my face with love in your eyes
I gave you a genuine smile because you truly made me happy

Now you no longer draw me
I am not your muse
But I can only hope that the next girl you draw feels the love I felt
I want you to capture her face with your pencil perfectly
Make her smile
Make her as happy as I was

Am I just
writing what I feel,
Or am I
writing to feel?

I write you words I never got to say