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Daisy Marrow Aug 2018
I don't want to apologize,
but I am sorry.
I understand I can be a bit dramatic sometimes,
and over think every situation.
However, I just wish I could understand how you feel about me.
Maybe I wouldn't hold on to every little thing
if you just gave me a sign that is clear for me to read.
I've never been able to enjoy the company of another,
so I'm not sure how this is suppose to play out.
Don't leave me in the morning
feeling used and forgotten.
However, I find myself waiting by the phone as the evening passes
wondering if I should keep trying.
I'm holding on but I know I deserve something more.
It's been 9 months and it's been hundreds of miles.
Sorry if this sounds selfish,
but I can't wait forever and hold onto nothing
when I know I deserve something more.
I love your company
and in my head, we are happy
because I know you feel the same.
I don't want to sound dramatic,
but just please don't leave me in this haze.
2018
writerReader Jan 2015
i hear her
crackle and her
cackle and her
clomping and
her stomping and
i feel her
silver hair and
her
rotten
air
Elizabeth Zenk May 2018
i am truly sorry
i’m sorry I changed
i’m sorry i didn’t
i’m sorry i don’T always think
i’m sorry i’m dramatic
i’m sorry we never talk
i’m sorry foR complaining
i’m sorry for the time i wasted
i’m sorry I’m fake
i’m sorry i can’t shut up
i’m sorry i nevEr want to hang out
i’m sorry i scared away your friends
i’m sorry i try too hard
i’m sorry i Don’t try at all
i’m sorry
wHy
can't you sEe
i hate myseLf too
i'd say Probably more
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
Get ****** sappy kings
Crying tears over everything
Do we think it makes us good?
As if any queen would,
Lick her lips and shake her hips
To climb up the sappy wood

Cry somewhere I can't hear
I would care but it takes years
For you to stop and for something bad
To even make me feel sad
Split your heart and do it smart
Because there's no walking away from that

I've been buried, as we all have
But that doesn't change the fact
That we face it with zest and strength
While you sit and cry at length
Unless your eyes see loved ones die
Keep that drama queen away from me
Arisa Mar 2
The low cloud above the hill
Would cling to the top of the tallest tree,
And yet no memory of us
Would cling to me the way nature illustrates.

Not forgetfulness, my love.
Not out of spite, my dear.
Just a watercolor of the way we were.
And don't lie, we weren't happy.

Those days where we sat in front of a konbini,
Long after-school afternoons,
Ended far too soon.
Ended far too quiet.

You would stare, stare, stare a storm.
A tempest that I could not see despite examining you for a lifetime.
They said we looked perfect together.
But you never looked at me the way you would the distance.

So instead the distance stood in between me and you,
Kota.
I was so ready to love you.
But we bit off more than we could chew.
An open letter to my first love. I still feel so much for him...
So it hurts me still.
always anxious Dec 2018
I breathe in until I feel like my lungs might explode. I tighten my neck muscels and before I can think - My entire body is tense.

I'm trying to supress it. It has ruined so much but I will not let it ruin another moment...
I grind my teeth trying to supress it further, not realizing that grinding my teeth ... was a tic too.

Letting my mind slip for a second; I come to find that I have failed - once again
I flick my head, blink my eyes violently - turning the day into a stop motion movie - Once again I already know the plot.

Everything is moving in slowmotion around me - my body moving too fast to hold it in I fail - once again my body is dancing to a beat that is not mine.

I feel the pain in my neck. It is sore from giving into the neverending urge - once again it is strained from constant twitching and has been for god knows how long.

I try to ignore the pain and focus on supressing what's coming next, but being distracted by the pain I fail - once again I flick my head and exhale as fast as humanly possible. The exhale doesn't come alone - it never does. A pallette of sounds escape my mouth.

It was not me making those sounds, but the lungs affected by the pain are mine.
I feel the cycle starting over - once again.

It goes through me like a wave of energy.
I have been robbed of the control over my own body - once again.
The power to fight back has ... vanished.

I go to bed early but sleep late; battling this force with every shard of energy I could possibly have left - Once again leaving me exhausted enough to finally sleep, despite the constant twitching.

They say it's a chemical imbalance in my brain.
Too much dopamine is released.
As far as I'm concerned dopamine is a "Feel good hormone", so why does it make me so miserable?

I lay here thinking about when this cycle will end?
And when it finally does end, when will it restart? - Once again...
I suffer from tourettes syndrome. This poem is written about how it feels to have a tic attack
- an unknown length of time filled with constant tics. It can last anywhere from 2 minutes to 24 hours.
Jessica Stull Dec 2018
Look behind everything you’ve been told, and see the lies unfold
Not everything is as it seems, as though we may try to avoid plots and schemes
A world awaits where we be zipped up and laying inside a cage
Perhaps infinite fires of the souls delight, might pry forbidden truth’s to sight
We’ve only read of ****, but what indeed if we be internally brought to the plate, the brim, the fiery pits of dark sin
I’ll sing hymns of anarchy and bleed my lips bare dry
I’m a woman made of fury
With eye’s that seek means of a way to purity
This is who I am
Though the world seems to try and shut me down
Fury... builds into rage, not always staged
Shalt you be enraged?
Though meant for a stage
Admittedly so, you’ll be witness of my show
That just like the snow will fall on the heads of those who don’t know

©Jessica Stull
This was inspired by my mother who always stands for what she believes. She taught me to always question, and never hold my breath. Live the way you want in peace.
Daisy Marrow Oct 2018
Where is the inspiration that I once possessed?
Where is the love that once sprouted from my fingertips?
Where are all the flowers that once grew around my feet,
with each step I took?

It seems as though
lately I've abandoned my gardens,
and left all the flowers to wilt and turn to dust.
The lives that I once cared for,
are now all scattered around the ground.

My spring light is somewhere lost in this winter cold,
and this winter has been going on for too long.
My body is numb from the breeze the December nights send me.
I once rose with the early sun in the morning,
but now I find my self serenading the moon each night.
Hoping maybe she will understand all my pain and issues.

These nights are graceless.
These nights are long.
These nights have me lost,
walking and searching for the sun.
Always ending up in places
that are just too dark.

Where is the sun that once loved me like a child?
Will I ever end up in a perfect place?
Am I just crying them to the moon?
Will this all be over soon?
my 2017 summer mood
slay Aug 2018
Braids in her hair with the beads
So I can always hear her walk away from me
Shorty is a dog like me
No telling when I’ll ever sweep her off her feet

She said, “say less” I was silent
I Guess I had to be reminded
She fell off when my doubts hit
Cause I ain’t never really loved a woman
Until I met you
If I have to confess to you
You’re the only one who got me feelings the feels
Ain’t no other woman
No man I’ve been with
Now I’m asking you to patiently

Hear me cry
Girl, it’s almost over gotta get this out of my system
Say goodnight, girl not so long till youre by my side girl , oh girl

I got this feeling for you
You so unique and you cool
My baby Neek, I’m her fool
She so dramatic, I’m coolin on the way
To her crib, two more lights and bang a left
Like I be banging on the door
Like I be banging on that ***
You so **** precious when you smile
And your nose ring catch the light
From the hallway got the door cracked
You the light of my **** life

Girl, cryyyy
it’s almost over gotta get this out of my system
Say goodnight, girl not so long till youre by my side girl , oh girl

I hit the blunt not to think about you
I wasn’t playing when I said he changed you
***** drop to my knees barstool
And back that *** up let you see it full moon

Gimme some ******* warnin’
You gon’ have me jump out of my skin
Fingers up and down my spine when
You unlatching the clasp of my necklace

Girl, cryyyy
Cause it’s been so long since you were by my side say good niiggghhtttt but truth be told it’s a lie

I’m lying ***** in this bed
Thinking of how you look undressed like when them lashes off no ******* on
I taste your name in every breath
Deep Oct 2018
O traveller, why lookest thou ahead road,
grave and speculative,
Depriving your eyes such a beatific sight,
See the angelic form that standeth behind
that window curtain,
Come, wait, sit beside me, it’s worth waiting,
We both will sing in praise of her
And linger until she uplifts the curtain.
You say it’s purposeless
Why argue?
Isn’t it the reason our maker gives us eyes?
Isn’t it the purpose of our mind’s evolution
to sing and hail the beauty; at least of her.

You won’t believe my word? Impertinence!
You will be blinded by her shadow
spare her presence; “stare not for long”,
What? You say it exaggeration…
Bon dieu!
If beauty is not exaggerated
where lies its charm.

Look! her shadow moving, she is
growing impatient as if  getting
late to meet her lover.
Yes, she wins heart in a look
and crushes it in a blink and wins again
by smile.
Monarch sleeps in her bed
Life in right, Death in left hand; she possess,
Judiciary in closet
And warriors in purse.
Countries bow, world kneel, universe supplicate
before her.
Stop! Where thou going?
Pardon these adynatons,
I’m drunk in her beauty.

Let us sing then, I’ll lead, you follow

Flowers wilting in chilled air,
Waiting clouds to part
To have a look fair,
Of moon…

Do see the restlessness in that room?
I can sense her ***** heaving, repressed
sighs, and her fingers twisting, twirling
in exasperation,
It must be a lover
who invented song, isn’t it?

A gloomy firefly in this starless sky
Searching his lover
Who has lost the light,
Wait not moon, rise, help him
In his plight…

Look! look! The curtain is drawn
There she, my sovereign,
don’t mistake her eyes for stars.
Have a profound look, but not too long;
this witnesses only fortunates.
What? you lost your vision-
But I warned you earlier.
Now who’ll testify I saw her?
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
"I am dying."

"Its hardly a cold."

"Will you fetch me a thermometer?"

"I will send for one, you Shakespearean."

"I am glad you can make jokes to a dying friend."

"Learn to hold your wine."

"You mean drink? Or what I am doing now?"

"Both."

"Will you still be my friend in the morning?"

"If you are alive."

"Good. I am dying you know?"

"You died a week ago and the week before that."

"It's real this time. You will not be happy in the morning."

"Why is that?"

"You will wake to a foul smell and realize that your mourning will be spent digging a hole."

"Oh, so like most mornings with you."

"You are a real pal. Pass the wine?"
Ray Dunn Apr 6
Dying?
Sweetheart—
I’m just practicing
for when this
world ends.
I’m v tired haha oh well it be like that. I also didn’t realize how much better coffee is with just a little bit of milk. I usually get mine w skim milk but I got it black today and it’s GROSS
Kara Jean May 2016
I have an urge to write words that make the soul cry
Weep tears of enlightenment
To summarize my life in a paragraph
No more body criticism, snipping my spaghetti straps
Running in a stumbled line away from confinement
Forgetting the word comprise
Reality takes a stand reminding me, who will be the mediocre house wife
Instead of making a dramatic exit, I drink whiskey and the world has plenty
ryn Sep 2014
Life is full of mischief and artful trickery
The way through never made easy for the foolhardy

Misleading gestures only employed to solely distract
Left up to you to decipher and hopefully extract

Experiences teach much, had you only been accepting and learning
That a dove could be made to appear; out of thin air, out of nothing

When the road ahead offers no more than mere misdirections
Altered trajectories stemming from convenient misinterpretations

Your cards may have been dealt revealing astonishing outcomes
"Not the hand you get but the game you play," said some

Depending on deft wrists and a flick of the wand
Overnight you'll wake to find that a new day had dawned

Only would happen if into the wind you hadn't spat
Hope would emerge like a hare out of a top hat

The play on light and shadow, nothing short of dramatic
You volunteer onstage, accompanied by apprehension and suspenseful music

Faced with an eager audience; you realise that alone you stand
Be not surprised to learn that love is life's sleight of hand...
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was ***!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Gemma Apr 2018
I'm sorry but problematic is not a synonym for over-dramatic.
My constant panic isn't normal ,
Flickering eyes, shaking thighs an unsuccessful amount of tries
isn't normal ,
Being complimented yet reacting offended putting my walls up and becoming defensive is not at all  normal -
and I may sound awful, like a pain in the neck
yet the pain lies deeper inside every attack it tries to escape
and I think if it did leave you'd find that you could perhaps be able to relate
Maybe if we went through this together you'd finally understand this pain that I hate .
an oldie
Stephanie May 2018
My chest is heavy

Calm down you say

My breathing is rapid

      It's no big deal you say

My heart is racing

     What's the problem you say

My words are caught in my throat

     She wants attention you say

My head is spinning

     She is being dramatic you say

My whole body is trembling

     Why do you act like that you say

My tears won't stop falling
    
      Don't act so weak you say

My screams echo inside my head

      It's just another day you say

My mind broken and realing

      You're so bothered by little things you say

My heart is shattered, unrepairable

Why do you say all these things you say
When you have experienced a trauma that leaves you with ptsd any little thing can be a trigger
bradlynn Jul 2017
brain enters,
stage left
the plot
running amuck in the crowd.
You can see the
dramatic irony
on their
faces.
It;s clear she
doesn't know her
part, or lines
it is obvious
she is
saying things she
thinks the
crowd
would want to hear.
And though
it is a prose
she does not recognize
she knows that
she has practiced
it
already.
feeling lost and fake.
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
This is an edited, expanded, expounded, confounded, reverberation of Linguistic Illusions to Probable Solutions written months back.
laura Aug 2018
she sends me messages that's she's leaving
a trans gal from West Virginia
trying to sound portentous, all this drama
filling my lungs i can't breathe in
she filled my heart and body
the hope trickling out of me
but met with indelible silence

and there's no better her out there
that's like her, you know it's not really that dramatic
nothing chromatic about a hook-up
lightless, lacking the sun's largess blasting
through the seams or in between the hedges
just wish i could have been with her
a couple more nights before she drove away
Dan Filcek Apr 2017
In the search for greater freedom of movement.
new ideas began to emerge,
rebellion against classical forms and practices
in what is now called aesthetic
disregarded the limited set of movements that were considered proper
Artistic content morphed and shifted
for young people longed to dance.
Music and rhythmic ****** movement are twin sisters of art,
portrayed in movements what the master expresses in his compositions
bare feet, loose hair, free-flowing
a form of natural movement and improvisation
Presenting dramatic contemporary imagery,  
often revealing the full spectrum of human experience
reflecting the tension and alienation of the time
the truth of human movement.
introduce chance procedures and pure movement to the cannon of dance
focused on the physical tasks of overcoming obstacles
investigate the properties of physical space and movement.
having a heightened sense of awareness of being grounded to the floor
at the same time, feeling the energy throughout the entire body,
flexibility, strength, coordination, body awareness ,
and poly-rhythmic movement; strong dramatic works
free from the limiting strictures of the big monopolistic managements
National Poetry Month 2017 - source - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_dance
Bison May 2016
Walking wasted
on Saturday late
and I've been replaced
like a cracked glass vase  
Fallen to the floor
Slow motion more
Dramatic than before
I walk you to the door

On a first date
To your front gate
And now you say you're late
Now she's got a first name
Wake late before daybreak
Sacrifice for her sake
In the morning I wake

To the sound of her thin cries
And the time flies
Til she drives by
With her new guy
Too high
But you can't lie

You know how
Your mom felt now
When she found out
How you dropped out
Just to tune in
And drop out
Sad Girl Jan 2014
I haven't left my house or showered or been outside or opened my blinds in a week and a half. I feel like a limp noodle, I have no motivation to do anything. I haven't been to work and I have canceled counseling twice. I feel ill if my mother tries to make me eat more than once a day. I wonder if anyone notices what's happening to me. I wonder if anyone knows the pain gnawing at my heart and causing this lump in my throat. I wonder if they care.

Every little thing is hurting me. The way that others think of me, the way they speak of me, the way they ignore me, the way they treat me. Everything is just there in my head, swirling around over and over. How needy I am, how annoying I am, how I can't control my drinking, how over-emotional and dramatic I am.

I wonder if anyone knows why the things that they say and think and feel about me effect me so much. Because it's me that they don't like. It's me that they're insulting. You can ask me to change and I can act different, but it's still me. I deal with it every day. I feel every emotion to the very bottom of me. There's no reaction that I act out that doesn't express exactly how I am feeling. My emotions run deep to the core of me. If they say that I am too much, I simply am. That is me, exactly. I can't bare myself at times; Imagine being me every day.

So why not just love me and accept me for being so entirely honest and so real. I'm something hard to fathom, I understand, but all I am is all I ever were and all that I can be. I have masked myself for everyone "I'm fine. I'm always fine." Don't let me deceive you, it's my favorite line. Inside I am crying, inside I am dying and on the outside I'm lying. Understand this; My tears are all dried up and I have ****** back into myself to please you. I am trying so hard to provide the silence that you have requested; so don't ask me why I've disappeared. Don't ask me why I am wasting my life away in a 'cave'. Don't ask me why I won't come out. Don't ask me why I won't speak or smile or cry or yell. Don't ask me why I am lacking emotion. Notice, but don't ask.

I will tell you once again. There is nothing that I feel that does not entirely devour me. Nothing that I feel that doesn't consume my every thought and every second of my existence. You told me to be silent. You asked me to stop feeling the way that I do. So I have emptied myself, to the bottom of me, just to please all of you.

k.d.
the art of poetry
    like any art
produces better work
when writers are not only
erudite but also smart

the lovers' painful state
upon loss or desertion
is voiced much more impressively
with less dramatic flourish
and more of the grate
that finishes the sword
at the old blacksmith's fire
where the hot flame of our desire
    thrown into water
with a defiant hiss
turns into deadly steel
ready to **** and ******
     friend or foe or lover
in our desperate search
     for exits from the mire

or take the unexpected loss
    of victory that seemed so close
    on a wild battlefield
when suddenly the hero's gallant steed
    falls victim to a hostile archers shot
and its proud rider is reduced to shout
"A kingdom for a horse!"
rather than holding a long monologue
    about the treachery of fate

in  short
less is oft' more
and lets the readers fill the empty spaces
with their own images and graces
Can you see my eyes, the way they evenly are red?
Puffed and slightly tearful still. Did you know it made me
tired to walk out of an empty room again, pretending to just
find something that was in my hand. Well I guess I've never lied,
I truly lost something every time you didn't  notice my breath was choking me. It's so hard to focus with shaking hands and detached eyes. I feel defeated every night I sleep. Maybe I'm over dramatic, maybe I just make things worse purposely. But you telling me I have no problems? That, my friend, hurts the most-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Cathyy Jan 2016
Libras love hard..
Oh you know us Libras love hard sometimes.. And we are quite sensual,
artistic, sentimental..

Just let this time heal,
Let 2016 fix your heart
Oh I know its hard sometimes
But you deserve more days out of the dark..

We started a friendship through a group chat
This time last year who could've ever imagined that?
Well since then; we've been tipsy in a park and in a *** club
& then I crashed your bike into your skateboard..
And I don't normally sleep early or take photos with people, but now I do

So I want to thank you,
For all the impact you've had
'Hope I made you feel the same, too
You've seen me cry when I'm sad
And laugh with all my heart, you..
Always make it hard for me to stay mad..
Whenever you look at me like that

And when you've hurt me, thats okay baby; you could've done worse things..
Just make up for that, by holding me
Until I stop hurting..
And never, let this connection go
I'll wait for you to move on

Oh on every Sunday..
Whether i'm uploading on Youtube or singing on the pavement;
I will remember turnpike lane station,
And to be honest i just used that because it kinda rhymed (****)
As cheesy and dramatic as i may be
I'll always remain by your side.
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