The smallest things
are the most important,
and you miss
every
single
one.
Don't claim
to be here,
to even want
to be here.
Why force me
through things
even you
can't care to bear?
You'll never understand,
can't even seem
to try.
You don't really
listen,
don't care if
I feel heard,
yet you read
my poetry
(Or maybe that's absurd,
maybe you just
like it and move on),
the one thing
that reveals me.
There is no curtain
to claim I'm hiding behind.
We can't be close
and I'm tired of
trying to find
a relationship here.
It's the same as
it's always been.
I care too much,
so easily give in
while you lean back
away from my reach.
Well then,
I won't reach anymore.
There has always been
an open door,
don't worry about it,
I'm ready to close it
whenever you go.
YOU ARE READING
trying not to make a mess
PoetryTurns out spilling your heart out can lead to plenty of messes. Really this is a safe space for the bleeding and crying, and hopefully it will allow me to let it out and then move on. At the very least, it'll stop me from having thoughts and feeling...
