Because poetry makes my heart hurt

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I have a lot to say always.
But really I just never say it.
I wish everything I wrote was pretty and beautiful.

But it's not.

Poetry makes my heart hurt.
Poetry makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

Which isn't at all like me.

Poetry makes me cry.
Which I guess is a lot like me.

I want to quit writing
But thats like wanting to quit breathing

It doesn't really work.
It doesn't make sense. But it does.

Scratch that.
Scratch all of this.

Scratch it all out and crumble it into a ball and throw it in a waste basket.

Poetry reminds me of him.
Poetry reminds me of him.

A different him.

A boy wrote a poem.
It made me want to lay in a fort with him.
Not in a romantic way.

Because I'm in love with someone else
and he is too
and our lockers used to be next to each other
when we were in seventh grade and still growing into ourselves.

I think we're still growing.
He's taller.
He's sweet.

And I just wish he wasn't so sad.
I'm sad too.

He writes beautifully though.

Let's lay in a fort together.
Not touching.
Talking softly.
You have a soft voice.

And this isn't romantic,
I love that.

Cheers to the boy who didn't hold my hand.
Or break my heart.
Who called me the next day.

Cheers to the boy who let me read his writing.

Cheers to the universe and those hated bottom lockers that brought two kids together.


Comments

  1. Optimistic ExistentialistApril 26, 2016 at 9:21 AM

    Amazing writing...wow. Great job and continue the awesome work!

    ReplyDelete

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