#writingaboutyou

the power in my pen

but you’ve always known the truth:

that’s not my intent

and never a threat...

You made me forget

Forget everything

Forget my feelings

Forget my responsibility

And you made me forget my self respect

I fall to the ground, crashing down

Hitting the ground so hard you can hear the crack of my bones

Never realising that I was not wrong when you told me I was wrong.

I did

I did

And the worst part is

I stilll fall for you

I still

How many names does silence have? How do we stretch, breathe, pull and distort silence? Does silence have feelings? In the beginning, there are still promises and the belief that she will simply arrive in the afternoon. While walking, the small flame is lit, ready to become a fire, but life is the extinguisher. I write poems about you as if they could bring you back into the world, let you be more than a memory that glows. To see the feeling in life, to try to understand you, who you are. I wait.

I wish to write. That’s true. Every hour, every second I remind myself To write. Not about rain, Not about ocean, not about flowers. Neither of day, nor of night.

I don’t wish to write about the beauty Of moonlight trailing a pattern Over the ring resting on my hand. I don’t wish to write about the reality Of places that I have been to, The places where I found joy And sadness again and again. I don’t…

Please let me know, I can’t be having feelings

For you again.

Silently pleading for you to return to me,

But I know you’ve moved on

And in a sense, I have too.

Why in all your wonder were you dropped

in front of me amidst a storm;

A series of consequences

That I would’ve been completely fine without!

But there you are again

Waiting for me with a blue Mountain Dew,

At the computer, earphones on,

And always looking for something in the Army.

I can’t fall in love with you (for what is love?),

You have a girlfriend...

Yet some part of me silently waits,

And waits for you to return to me.