I wrote this on the airplane after seeing my brothers and their friends at college. I don't want to explain much else. Just read and draw your own conclusions.
You say you don't try so
You don't care.
Curious, I think.
Because I can tell you do care.
You do try.
Or at least you did,
But someone hurt you to change that.
You've been hurt,
And you never healed.
So you hide behind this indifferent persona who's stopped trying.
Oh wow the irony,
Started trying to look like you've
"Stopped" trying.
So you lie or bend the truth,
To push forth this narrative of
Cool
Nonchalant
Chill
Guy.
That in actuality is broken and quietly scared.
I saw it in the way you dream.
And your visceral reaction to me lightly brushing your neck.
I heard it in your quiet whimpers.
And your fearful voice telling me to hush.
I felt it in the way you react.
And your rapid movement to unassuming innocence.
Who hurt you?
And how?
And will this lead you to hurt me?
No.
I think to myself.
I don't care.
It meant nothing, just like the one the night before.
Yes.
I think to myself.
That's it.
We're only cool friends, just like we were two weeks before.
I mean,
Come on.
Your friends' sister?
Cliché as hell.
But if I don't know you,
Then you don't know me
And you don't know that I've been down that road so many times before,
That I realize it's implications.
Implications that have given me love,
Hurt,
And a reputation.
Reputation.
O what a new thought to explore.
Must it be the opinions of others to be know as such?
Or can I have a personal reputation?
One only I know of and hence reprimand myself for.
Not that I care of course,
Because it's way hotter,
And easier,
To stop caring.
Huh.
That's how I could leave the other tou so easily.
Break you like a toothpick between my teeth.
And feel that same level of remorse.
I've
Become
A
Monster.
How?
Did
This
Happen?
Is
It
Your
Fault?
Is
It
Just
The
Situation?
Or
Is
That
My
Excuse.
Well...
Fuck.
I've written too much.
And you probably don't understand any of it.
YOU ARE READING
2:00 AM Poetry
PoetryAny Taylor Swift fan knows the appeal of 2AM as some obscure, yet romantic, haunting, and magical time. Most of these poems were likely written by me at 2AM, like how I am creating this right now. Some of these poems will be funny, some will be s...
