**January 19th, 2019**
There are poems I only write now
And never write again.
There are poems I write on paper
And type them up again.
There are poems I write down,
Yet never touch again.
There are poems they never see
Because I hide them
Again.
I never finished the poem I started today.
They were there, I couldn't.
Find it funny
That I would rather show these to
Complete strangers
Than them.
Because they could figure out the meaning easier
Because they would get worried faster
Nothing's wrong,
But sometimes it's hard to convince
Them.
I didn't show her the two good poems,
Her name was in both of them.
Would I show ##### those poems?
She was in them, too.
Her name was never stated in one,
But could she figure out who?
Would it be a way of getting
What i had for so long
Off my chest?
Nah, I'll wait till the fourteenth.
Or maybe not.
That wouldn't be a fun birthday present,
Would it?
At least I've let go
I guess.
The bubble's been popped
And now she's one of the few
I'll never feel that way for again.
Lucky her.
If she's
Reading
This poem
Now...
She knows who she is
And she's scared as hell.
And as much as I hate to admit it,
So am I.
The poems that I write now,
And never again,
Are ones like this.
Ones that I'll never care about rereading*
Because the soul point is to get
A soul point across.
(It was back in September,
#####, I don't
Feel it now
It's popped)
I'm never
Gonna
Hit publish.**
-
*It's funny cuz I'm rereading it now cuz I'm going through the unpublished poems.
**It's funny cuz it's published now.
I wrote this more than a year ago ok. (as of 4/22/20)
