can i ever be the true me when a part of me is lost to someone else? why do i have to ask myself why i did not do what i wanted to? when can i finally tell him what i've held inside me for so long what i have wanted to say all along? i don't know what to do now but to deal with what i hold until i am old. but maybe i can let it out and figure out how to say what i need to say and finally let him know how i feel about him now.

Comments

  1. CharlyApril 4, 2011 at 7:50 PM

    okay, this was supposed to be a poem, but this was being stupid, so it didn't come out that way.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

i can't help but feel like i am missing something... like maybe i forgot to lock my front door before i left or forgot to close the window in the back room. but i can't be sure until i get back. maybe i am putting thoughts in my own head. but i'm not sure. i drive home down the long road in the night, hoping that maybe everything is safe in my little house. pulling up in the driveway, i see everything untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. as i walk to the front door, i hope that i did remember to lock it. i slide the key into the lock and turn it... the thunk of the lock tells me that i did. i walk through the house, turning on lights as i go. in the back room, the large picture window had been left wide open, though the screen is locked. only i can't remember if i had locked it before i left. i hear a noise from somewhere in the house. i had not made it and i don't think that the house can make that kind of noise by itself. but i ignore it and turn on my tv, keep...
Read more

A Tribute to Friendship

A cup of coffee in front of each of us Steaming, sitting on the two-top table, The hazy summer afternoon drifting towards twilight. We’re talking about nothing and everything, But not really needing to fill the silence. Looking out the window, Watching the world pass us by, We laugh at something, a joke now long forgotten. Another night, in front of a bonfire, We’re burning marshmallows for s’mores, Warming our feet near the fire. We reminisce about high school and prom night, One foot firmly in the present, the other lingering in the past, The smell of burning wood and cigarettes and weed intoxicating. An afternoon in the sun, We are walking down the trail, Winding down offshoots next to the river, Pausing at a bend to take in the view. Continuing on, our feet crunching on the gravel path, We talk nonsense, or let nature fill the silence. Under the tunnel formed by trees and leaves, The light filtering down colored a golden emerald by the lea...
Read more