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m Nov 2021
can you believe you liked me first?
i can't believe i fell harder
you liked my green eyes
but they're not too good
my eyes didn't spot that you didn't feel the same anymore
maybe you never did
i liked your sarcasm
i liked the way you cussed
i liked your hair
maybe i'm a narcissit because those are my favorite things about myself
i didn't think about any of that though when you were holding another girls hand
instead i thought that the eyes you loved so much couldn't move away
they were betraying me,hurting me even more
i took in the girl
and wondered who was prettier between us
of course she was
m Oct 2021
now that you told me you love my eyes
i will always turn in your direction
greens your favorite color
so i hope my eyes are your favorite now
m Jul 2021
he spends money like its an ocean tide
as soon as it's gone more takes its places
he knows that it won't stop coming
i save money like rain in a desrt
it comes rarely and when it does its small
im grateful for my rain but sometimes i look at his ocean
and compared to him the water in my cupped hands seem so small
m Jul 2021
I wish my wishes were more possible or at least more tangible
my wish for happiness is impossible to fulfill
happiness doesn't come in bottles I can drink or pills I can swallow
it comes in waves and never stays long
my wish for people to change is also a difficult one
there is no one that you can change except yourself
I wish that they were realistic so instead when I fall I have something to reach for, a goal or a dream that could be accomplished, instead of grasping at air
this is depressing
m May 2021
I know that I'm falling
and you are too
and I know you will catch me
and I know you won't mind
but I don't deserve the faith you have in me
I'm not the person you think I am
m Apr 2021
i will always like the daytime better since its light makes it harder for me to succumb and easier to face stupidities straight on
what made sense in the dark is nonsense now
m Mar 2021
if you want me, look for me under your bootsoles
do you realize that when dead we are all the same?
dirt under a sole or maybe the dirt that lets a tree grow
Walt Whitman wrote the first line
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