I’m going to share a poem I wrote last year, during school. Maybe this will go unseen, but at the very least I wont feel like I’m hoarding a dirty secret. I write poetry sometimes okay?
Come to think of it, this “poem” is more on the monologue side, enjoy!
Maybe it is a good thing to judge. Maybe. It’s times like these, when I walk home after school that I think of these things. Cold. Cold. So very cold. But it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t come home. But I always do. It’s too far away. But why don’t you hold on? There has to a type of prize for all of this. Torturing myself on a weekly basis. Of course, I could always go to your house, after all it’s much closer. But if I did, that would mean I forgive you and I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. But Life is better with you than without. My hands are blistering on the edges from typing far too much. Perhaps this is a good problem to have. Creativeness seeping it’s way to the outside. Perhaps. perhaps . perhaps. One thing I like about you is how charming you are. You smile and I fall away. But that’s just buttery. sugarcoated. But the truth is I wish we had another place to be. To be together. But I would never have a place. We would never have a place. We are caged in, trapped. No way out. But that’s alright. No hurt. Just pain. No dull ache only sharp. Some say distance drives us closer. It might but they make it sound so charming. Charming. Charming. I beg to leave. But not without you. I would rather walk a hundred miles then the one mile home. The reward. Either sickness or health. Both lead to the same result, you. One longer than the other. But even if I picked fast, if I picked sickness, I am lacking a lot of information. Too much it’s just Impossible, Impossible, Impossible. What do I do but wait in health and continue through to cold. Cold. cold. To the house. Only one mile away. Only. only.
