Because I don't want to have feelings for you, because you're you, and I'm me
me, with the old visible scars and the bled through shirts and you, the boy with the old spice body wash
I don't know if you choose me yet, or whether you have a choice not to, please don't.
I'm a walking red flag; of bits of bone and hanging skin. And you're a hockey player.
My feelings, if they make sense to me, you are blueberries (the feelings never care to elaborate)
And I don't know if I feel like that because your sweet and pick-able- or because you get stuck between my teeth.
All I know is that I'm uneasy at the thought of you, and I can't tell if its good or bad because it hurts
And sometimes when I count the stars in the sky, I always end up counting the the days until i get to see you again, except the starts have a countable number.
And I'm sorry, because I do things to scare you off, but you welcome me into your home to play Mario Party all the same. And I'm sorry.
I could feel you hug me back, yesterday, and I can't put my finger on the words, and my and thoughts escaped my prying hands like rats on a sinking ship.
YOU ARE READING
poems and short stories
Randompreviously "fireworks reflected in your eyes" I don't feel like that fit the piece anymore, and I needed a change but I still want it to be taken seriously. My earlier work (earlier chapters) are worse please stick em out and read the good stuff ♡♡ ...
