I admit
I am pathetically in love with you
Frightful it might be irrevocable
Girl pining away for someone whom she's invisible to
The oldest story in the book

I pale in comparison to all the others
I know, I get it
Not aesthetically gifted
Perhaps if you had taken a peek into my soul
You'd have found how stunning it is

I grow more delusional by the day
envisioning how your hazels would sparkle
When halation encircles you in auroras fluorescence

I am wrecking my brain
Trying to sound profound
Words splattered on a page are all I have to offer sometimes
Verbalisation fails me
I suppose I'll have to be content with this unembellished declaration
( which you will never see)
It feels organic anyway
I am plucking all this from the bottom of my heart

As I force these feelings to wither away
I attempt to convince myself that this was just perhaps an inflated crush
I am saddened by thoughts of what could have been
It burns
The catalyst I need to move on is my acceptance of the fact that even though we live under the same sun
the problem is, it doesn't cast the same shadow

I want to be a poet,
Studied like Keats and Shakespeare,
For my writings to invoke love, sadness and fear,
For classrooms to be filled with my spilled words,
More exciting stuff than multiplication and surds,
For entire essays written about my verbalisation of life,
To let them know my truest pains and strife,
So people know how I feel about ‘her’,
For them to learn, to me, her identity is a blur,
To make my perfect family proud,
To have the world to know ‘Jack Youd’

Or am I just a lonely poet,
Writing words never to be read, embraced and felt,
All my words, wisdom and woes,
And yet people will never know it.